I am not inconstant,
But forever evolving,
Not closed off,
But not always open.
I expose my heart
Only when the sky darkens.

I build toothpick-towers,
Tantalizing torments
Taller than trees.
Chateaus of cards
Whose hallowed halls
Visitors seldom peruse,
And even more rarely see.

Young and foolish and bold,
Thoughts all over the place,
I spoke like a shotgun.
My opinions explosions
Verbal projectiles
Going off in your face.

I lived life by moments,
I existed only then,
Only there.
Motivated by love, yes,
But also by pain
And by fear.
Each memory
Of each moment
Represented
By each fallen tear.

Now older and wiser
-That's either a laugh or a sin
Haunted might be more apt-
I find I write
Too close to the skin.
A subtle blade,
Flirting, teasing,
Razors edge longing to dive in.
Vampiric voracity
Obscured by imperfect opacity,
Seeking the vitality within.

Yet,
What ****** force
To unleash?
What uncouth beast
Would I be?
Devouring
Ravenous,
That which sustains me?

Better to starve,
To choke on dust,
Than to make that first ****.
Dooming myself
To an eternal enmity
Against my own will.

I've heard it said that
Wisdom is the product
Of suffering and time.
But what dear cost,
What dire punishment,
When youth is the crime?
So I'll try to balance the scales
With love and lessons learned,
And relinquish remorse to rhyme.