I'm trapped in my labrinthian mind
Attempted Rehabilitation has shaken me into self delusion
My submission is to seclusion
I'm cut off from my self in entropic confusion
Inevitable walls rise at emotions first mentioned
Truths I've obscured through divisive contention
I argue with my self. . . no I don't.
Its hard to pull myself apart
But I must
Divide my sins to see my heart

I'm nearly catatonic.
My eyes shift spasmodic in their sockets.
They're closed, and it's far too quiet
for the racket ripping my inner eardrums.
Reliving the sound of grim acceptance.
Slack faced,in the blackness.
"I guess this is it".
I said it then. And I say it now.
  Didn't make a terrible difference,did it?
Gifted quesarito wrappers are
halfheartedly crumpled in the floor.
I was dead, I died, I'm dead once more.

By the cadence of my steps,
A jilted lover shall know death.
And if in morning she shall wake,
She'll know her lost And lonely mate.
We trail and trek,down unto doom,
In lengthy night and shortened noon
We Lovers hold each others hearts,
And trip,and choke,
And break, now hark:
The cadence comes, hers matches mine,
We cuckold be: by loves fair shine,
Know only bends and shattering,
And we grow tired, wait,and see.

what gravity, and where has the gravity gone?
when yesterday a new year dawned -
I asked myself this question,pained,
and answered with the things i've done.
I blame myself for our pummelling decline,
though in part, it be yours beside -
i could have, but didn't-and did, but could not have -
many things that made the difference.
And i lay there, wondering if ever i would feel as heavily entwined,
as when first your gravity became mine.
and feared - that never again - should i be tethered -
by the few invisible tines that held me to this mote of dust
I fear free fall, up into the sky.
And all i can do is lay here, and fight the lies, while we cry.

He that will the world
remould
should first himself recast.

The fall of any man is
hid
in forbidden things.

Would you still love me:
If the sun prevents its light
And the moon its glow at night,
That all at once becomes gloomy?

Would you still love me:
If all things awry go
And nothing at all to show,
But a good token of misery?

Would you still love me:
If my arrow cannot kiss
Thy waiting bow's release,
To have a bout of ecstasy?

Would you still love me:
If medical reports say "cancer "
That has no surgical answer,
Or another form of infirmity?

Or would you only love me:
If my life wields a touch of Midas
With the revelry of Las Vegas--
All sublime, all sweet, all rosy?