.
                                                               ­                               the
              If I                                                                       valleys of  
            were                                             between      our snowy souls.
         a builder,         but           bridges               we could meet in those
        I, no longer            build                       clouds,   as    high   as     those
    would hike these                               dreams, that we dare not discuss,
  ice eyed mountains                        upon    the    footsteps    of  ­   Giants.

When will I be able to live my life
without having to sleep through half of it?

Will my stomach
ever stop aching?

Why is my skin
crawling?

Which part
of my soul dies
when I check my gut,
stick a skewer through my brain,
pinch a nerve in my neck
until it pops;
what gets left behind
when I make a compromise?

I’m violent by nature
Where even the fondest of nurture
Has only ever been enough to barely suppress
The violence that slips into my unconscious silence
But all these violent thoughts I keep safe
Sitting on a bar stool alone with them
A couple dozen other people around me
Staring at me buying me drinks
Wanting to lace their
Fingers around the base of my skull
Wanting to pull my thoughts forcefully out of me
But I never let them
I will never let them get to you- my violent thoughts
Don’t worry I’ll never let them touch you
I’ll never sell you out
Instead I’ll go home alone tonight, sed for your quiet company
And lay in my bed and let your circle up in me
Spinning around until you are comfortable enough
To spill yourself out onto my dreams
And so you do and unapologetically unleash
Every single thought of hate and of spite
That in my consciousness you are too modest to show.