Why do I think that
small gifts will curry favor?
I can't give my friends what they deserve.
I'm a cockroach in the dark
desperate for the light of their love;
let me feed off the wreckage of my damaged hopes,
my daring to dream of simple pleasures:
the embrace of camaraderie,
the gentle swelling of our hearts together,
a reassurance of their caring for me,
and the space to let the insecticide to work its magic.

I can't fathom my worth,
what is a star's worth in a universe of light?
Precious little, I reckon.
Their existence will carry on unscathed
by the dying of the light,
and so I go now, wearily,
into the loneliness of that night.

Let me purge my essence
since I can't purge my disgust
with myself; I cannot feel the connection
of my sisters and my brothers,
my parents and my lovers
are they ashamed of my existence,
or my proximity to themselves?

My mind pulled
in opposite directions
dim reflections of my mind
taint the sanity I once owned.
But what was my sanity ever worth
if anything at all?
Please just leave me to my poems,
the eye of this ******* tempest.

Why do I think that
small gifts will curry favor?
I can't give my friends what they deserve.
I'm a cockroach in the dark
desperate for the light of their love;
let me feed off the wreckage of my damaged hopes,
my daring to dream of simple pleasures:
the embrace of camaraderie,
the gentle swelling of our hearts together,
a reassurance of their caring for me,
and the space to let the insecticide to work its magic.

I can't fathom my worth,
what is a star's worth in a universe of light?
Precious little, I reckon.
Their existence will carry on unscathed
by the dying of the light,
and so I go now, wearily,
into the loneliness of that night.

Let me purge my essence
since I can't purge my disgust
with myself; I cannot feel the connection
of my sisters and my brothers,
my parents and my lovers
are they ashamed of my existence,
or my proximity to themselves?

My mind pulled
in opposite directions
dim reflections of my mind
taint the sanity I once owned.
But what was my sanity ever worth
if anything at all?
Please just leave me to my poems,
the eye of this ******* tempest.

Is it too late to go back
to when I declared with a whimper
what I should've kept silent
to release another day, so
I could act like a man:
cool, calm, and collected?

If so I'd wait till
you and I were eye to eye
to ask you out for a drink
that neither you nor I could buy.
Once seated I'd lay down my suit of hearts
in front of my queen;
let sweet dreams retire in the night
full of hopes, and solemn despair.
I'll wait to see if I'm your Erik or Raoul,
Christine I am a fool but,
what I wouldn't give...

I will wait till my patient death
to line your breath, and I
am even willing to be your late-night regret
discarded behind shadows the next day,
forgotten in the recesses of your mind's missteps.

I'd rather be your mistake
that you wish you'd never made,
than be a no one to you;
some weepy wimp in your wake.

Why won’t they set my siren free?
I shake in fury miserably.
Grant me my pain,
you with the two French braids.
I contemplate my grey-zone state
& regret riding with my instant whims
that carried undercurrents
of desires held deep within,
that go against the tide.

Because I'm a **** up
who sees nightmares in all his dreams,
the sun won't come up on the days
that are replete with bleak scenes
of a fleeing dove with broken wings;
poor, tortured thing, all stuck in chains,
acid dropped upon its head
till nothing but its bonds remain.
It whimpers as it dissolves away;
gone from a trickle to a pour,
there's no way to ease its immortal death.
The sweet demon screams forever more.