No heart,
No shame.

When the conversation fades, and interest is gone. island drift farther apart
burning down the maze, to get to the point, when new beginnings start
eyes aching to examine you, before to long, the death of the heart.
when minds flower blooms, healing open wounds, morning birds swoon
there pray to there doom.don't fear the faun, such beauty to gaze upon
purifying waters we lay in, indulgence, love, lust and sin. all dogs will bark
we embark upon, the mission at the break of dawn. it all has been done

I meant to pen a happy poem
But somehow, ended up with this same old song
Heart in shreds
Dry tears shed
Overran with a fresh fload as I awake
Been too broken to, again, break
But, that's just a thought, I still break anyways.

Does the sun still smile?
This gloom has lasted too long a time
Does the stars still twinkle?
No equation is, again, simple
Do we still know beauty?
Everything is gone dark and ugly
We must all be a broken people

Weeping last only for the night
Morning is going to bring a new reason to smile
Though the night may seem to have lasted too long
Surely there is always a new song
We could either wait or
Create our own options, which are most often wrong.

I am broken
You are broken
We all are broken
But if we treat the threads as a whole dress
Not as single individual threads
Then we are on the way to redress
No more broken me
Nor broken you
Just a healed and mended people.

I meant to pen a happy poem
But somehow, ended up with this same old song
Heart in shreds
Dry tears shed
Overran with a fresh fload as a awake
Been too broken to, again, break
But, that's just a thought, I still break anyways.

Does the sun still smile?
This gloom has lasted too long a time
Does the stars still twinkle?
No equation is, again, simple
Do we still know beauty?
Everything is gone dark and ugly
We must all be a broken people

Weeping last only for the night
Morning is going to bring a new reason to smile
Though the night may seem to have lasted too long
Surely there is always a new song
We could either wait or
Create our own options, which most often wrong.

I am broken
You are broken
We all are broken
But if we treat the threads as a whole dress
Not as single individual threads
Then we are on the way to redress
No more broken me
Nor broken you
Just a healed and mended people.

You could stray
in the dark.
And not feel a thing.
Wander on lonely sideways.
Slowly.
No demons' following you.
No boogyman.
No hooded guys.
They have melted away
till your veins went dry.

You could play
with fire.
And not feel the heat.
The burn.
The plumes of flame.
The sparkling ember
And still touch it.
"It was fun"

You wouldn't feel the rush.
that comes after.
The high.
Excitement fades
in your eyes.
Into pale pale
numbness.

Oh but without fear.
you could
walk on
rooftops.
on building-edges
on the highways.
And got run over.
Take bottles of pills.
With bloodied eyes and shaky fingers.
You could end the pain.
You wouldn't know it.
You could do it all.
But no one ever tells you.
And it seems that
no one
knows.

"How much is bravery?"
You ask.
"80 something years ahead, "
A life time
in exchange
It will **** ya'
Without fear,
no feelings.
no pain.
you could die.

We sat down together, and she began to ask questions.
"Age, age is a funny thing, is it not?"
"Ah, yes. My lover, my mental cannibal, she is 18. Or was. I think she's dead."
"Keep going, friend."
"About what?"
"The thing that eats your mind away. I have one too. Did she wither away?"

I shift in my chair, uneasy. The pit of my stomach begins to ache.

"She disappeared. She was sick, you see, and one day, she simply disappeared. Oh, I didn't give up there, I try to contact her to this very day. It's the not knowing that eats at my skull."
"What part eats at you, her absence or her presence elsewhere?"
"Her absence."
"Do you speak?"
"Love is too cruel to want to have it again. We used Skype."
"Ah, real person."
"As real as I am."
"That's a statement too profound to mean anything and to meaningful to not mean anything at all."
"In the end, I'm only as real as I want to be - which is to say, a ghost, nothing more and nothing less."
"Everything is nothing. Projection. What did you talk about? Did she love you too?"
"We talked about everything. The universe and life and love and ***. I like to think that she loved me."
"What was she sick with?"
"I don't remember. But she was so beautiful, as she coughed and hacked and still smiled when she saw me."
"Did she name you Goat?"
"No. I named myself that, because I eat everything until I am left alone in a pile of my own filth."
"Is she still there? Do you still hear her?"
"I hear her voice, her laugh, everywhere. I miss her. Every part. I miss it when I did something stupid and she laughed. I miss her eyes when she read one of my poems. I miss hearing her sing out on the stairs. I miss her wild hair."
"Pain- write about that, write about relief."
"The only relief for me is death, and I'm not that desperate yet."
"Ah, desperate to end this suffering? Write about death and write about love and life and addiction and form and state and *** and senses."
"It feels like so much longer than it has been. Everything moment is a lifetime. In fact, it must've been. It's inhumane, this suffering."
"I think you mean too human."
"Perhaps."

you talk
like lions roar
and shrug
like there's nothing
in the earth below
your heavy lisp
rings through the room
even as aproned women
scrape their brooms
you talk of recovery
you talk of gain
you talk like
you have never been pained
you talk of casinos
the tring of money
you talk of wealth
like it were milk and honey
you talk the talk
and then talk the walk
we make through the woods
you talk again
this time of stolen goods
we cross the river
you talk
we feel the night shiver
you talk
we dream of sleep
you talk
we avoid counting sheep
you talk

you talk
until we see
the sun come up
it is a crisp morning
ready to fill the cup
i wait to hear
from a world
i don't live in
but i am met
with a silence
that is
most enlivening
and that is
when i see you
for the first time
for what you are
your eyes
grey much dull
hiding the
ancient sadness
of giving up