You promised me a lifetime
I guess a lifetime means to you less than a year
I remember all the times
You whispered "till infinity" inside my ear
"It's over" didn't mean anything to you more than mere words
But for me, it was the end; the final stab of the sword
It hurt, oh, it hurt. Weeks on end, I wondered if I had made a mistake
I gave you my heart and you stabbed it with a stake
I cried and cried till there were no longer tears left to cry
Then I admitted to myself that that Lifetime was goodbye.

We played a game,
Where neither of us--tell a name
And yet, submerge in a ravine of shame.

We agreed to this perilous gamble
In a morbid hope of a beast to tame;

Which crawls beneath my skin
Set to devour everything akin--
       To happiness and love,
That was stowed away hidden
      In a secret trove.

A shard of vintage hope
Stained with no scope
Painted for an antique emotion
Which was drowning in a deep ocean
Woefully against all of my notion

On the edge of a chasmic cliff
A forlorn shade of my soul, stands stiff--
She stares down in the fathomless abyss
Not fearing the abysmal crisis
In which, she will plunge in a gorge of vices

Flames dance and flicker towards her heart
And, breaking the iron-wrought cage apart
Alas! To only find a ghastly grim cavern
Engirdled between lungs and ribs,
Her once-alive heart--was torn to shreds
All whilst, a monster gently caressed
Towards the harrowing path of an eternal rest

“their mental state contains something lethal:
past, nothing but past” Nikolay Y Ossipov

you measured your height
with the mountains
your fists with the howl
of lonely wolves
to avoid helplessness stupidity confusion:
the all too encompassing human nature

I no longer want to keep you
in the alternative dimension
guarding your wholeness
I'll let you fall into pieces
I'll let you die the death destined
to you
instead of crushing him
or imploding myself
for him to rearrange his fragments
for me to hope for all the levels
of coherence
I/we are capable of

bodies afraid or in love are the most intense
I want my body back
from your battlefield of delusions
your pain is not my pain
your despair is not mine
your manic refusal of touch
is still my manic capacity
to love wounds tragedies
aborted laughter
some words are mirrors
I'll keep writing to you
till there is no escape
from the clarity
of dawn:
all my love is of
no real use
to you