Do whatever you want to do:

pick apart my faults to the point
where I can't utter my own name,

free my demons to let them
circle me like salivating vultures,

stomp on my face and all the while
say I'm nothing more than a common *****,

piece together all my hopes
and force me to watch as you smash them again,

grind my feelings to a dusty pulp and
spew venom on my skin,

make me wish I were dead,

tell me I'm not good enough,

make me feel inferior every day
till I learn to do it myself like a dog,

just please don't leave me
all alone.

Standing rigid in the temptress' dream,
Moses is bathed by ragged stone
in the fortress' light at the dawn
of his sacrifice.

She transfixes him with her whisper
and plants the seed of
a needy higher power,
to which she can attach
her sadistic, demonic thoughts
and give him pain
in the name of loyalty to
a nothingness holding its power
over him, like a wind without the chill.

Pearls of protection on a ***** palm,
angst-addled fists seeking refuge in the wall,
we hold on to hope in different ways.

I hold my anger the hope of a hidden heart
and she ties her tears to the hopes of tomorrow.
Our grievances of the past are not forgotten.
Our grievances with the present are never-ending.
Our grievances with the future are not even aired
and already they grow weary with our beings.

Capitalize on the cost of seeking peace
by creating conflict within the conscious
and find out which one will prevail:
the anger or the sadness;
the fists or the pearls.

In the foggy hills of Appalachia,
through thickets of trees and brush, stood
a hidden house that was falling apart
as mold ate away at the wood,

and inside lay the palest being
that had hooks stabbed deep in its flesh.
It had cracked lips and a throbbing throat
that the sweetest water could not refresh.

"Come close cousin, and cry for me,
"I'm breathing my last." It said.
So closer I came, then it opened its eyes
they were colored the purest red,

and dazzled with innocence against the haunted house
they brought forth bright light from the dark,
red and white seemed to contrast well
and created quite a spark,

till the pure red did begin to fade,
and white turned to ashy gray.
I tore my heart from my chest as a sacrifice
but cried when the reaper said it couldn't stay.

It turns out a pale outline is much preferred
to empty space in the broken place
for I see nothing within that simple frame,
and it sticks out as the end of an unjust face.

A freezing of my frigid soul
it has rigid wrinkles etched
like calligraphy put into stone; there's
a permanence to my way, I've debated change
too many times within myself, I know
there's no hope in the fickle throat of one
who cannot walk the walk.

I rest my head at the
rotation of the light,
pray for a reprieve in the night, and
cast my lot with the hopeless youths who've
been lied to by kith & kin, or else
heard their own delusions in
each utterance they were given.
Either way, we've frozen souls and hearts melted
by warm tears pouring from
our own roaring storms.

I am a tree trying to
not waver with the wind.

Each leaf I lose eats away at me,
like their color they turned,
left me bare to the bitter winter wind.

The branches, thought sturdy, are broken by the storm;
it took away my connections to the world;
I thought they'd last, how could I be
such a fool? I'm more vulnerable now.

Looking for my saving grace, I search beneath the dirt
and find my faith in buried roots.
They ground me amidst the hurricane,
turns out they were what I needed,
not abandoning branches and fleeing leaves.

I ask them all these questions
about their lives,
their loves and passions
and pains and promises.

I ask because I love them
and care.
                 But what questions
do they return? A fraction
of what was given;
is friendship now
just a one way street?

Do they dislike me?
Do they despise me?
Do I even deserve their
fraction of affection?
And they wonder why I say
that I feel all alone; I've forgotten
what true friendship is, and wonder
if I ever really knew.