I cannot stop you from loving me but I can start hating you. That would be my last act between us, with all your voice can do to me. When mine grows hard and nothing remains other than kind cruel empty. Then I would fling myself off the edge.
I wonder sometimes what it is like to start all over again, there is little to burn before I could do it. Take that risk. Go somewhere else with no one for a family or close in heart. How quickly I would find that prolific beauty that is stranger than its own kind. - There is this obsession with kindness and the word kind, I see. - But what of that place if it were not there, nothing inside tying its meaning to material existence? Even to all the people I know my kindness grows small and I snap off anything that could take any of me with them. Steal my heart, take my love, in kind, for granted. To use it for selfish grand or minor schemes. I cannot allow. I cannot let it. I will not.

Sometimes I smile and there is laughter, I soften to a response. All that was made before is still there, before anyone knew me, and stole those bits I could have kept. I shield myself, protection in hindsight. Is it still necessary?
There are those whom I love and they are far away. Where, when they are close by or shadows across misty seas of distance. This might eventually give me shelter. Possibly.

So now I make myself to hate you. Out of protection for my soul. But I feel cold. The flame is all I have to keep me warm. So I ignite inside with fierceness. I cannot be held in, this need for freedom is stronger than anything. If to feel this faith of an illusion is to be caged within myself again.
How would it feel to know it the right way? There is still the empty, the vast and vacuumed void to deal with. I ask God if I should dive into her and discover my true core. Acid stripped, bare and bleeding out. All that is left is what existed outside of my idea of you and all those whom I liked to be like you. Objects of some kind of figmented affection: clinging on and sticky with the tears for replacement of what I once had called love. Then I would walk the long road to healing again.

So, now I hate your voice and the memory of your broken English accent. All the ones who had come before and after you. They get not the reverence I give to you. Those clear brown eyes that turned out to not care enough, to save us. Or was it me that made it so, after our forced end? Only once, you showed the daring to break from my spell. Through redacted words though, not the voice that had given a haunted home to my thoughts. But they held no defence to my pleas of anguished honesty.

Once, I will be through with you. I will have learned not to hate despite your love. That one thing which makes me feel still so course. Your silence will have sanctioned my forgiveness and argued the release of my heart. Perhaps, I could cry with someone again.

© December 31st 2012

You walk a tightrope between
a photograph and my mind;
with careful steps i create you,
slowly, and imbue the figmented you
with your delicacy and beauty.

I know that you cannot exist in the space here;
the distance between my eyes and your portrait,
without having existed in my perceptions
at some other point before this moment,
and that right now
the real you
lives at a distance from me which mere miles cannot express.

But right now I am happy
to have you balancing on some invisible thread
which extends out to my face from your printed likeness,
for i am free to contemplate how to balance you
into the waking and sleeping moments of my life
without worrying about
where my tip-toeing steps fall
along lines of romantic delusion
and existential affection.

This place seemed strange
like home never was
nothing more than
a halfway house
caught between dimensions
a cell to open your eyes
to this lucid nightmare called reality
hopelessly lost
without the slightest hint
of a cause
as to why
the ground is pockmarked
with craterous scars
as the foliage  falls
bled dry for another shopping mall

but all is well
in the fertile lands
of the democratically free
even if its democracy at the end of a gun
jobs are on the rise
the army needs boots on the ground
paid for from the taxpayers purse
of course
the night is dark and full of terrors
so you better pick a side
after all
it's not like terrorism
was figmented in the imagination
as just another means of control

while freedom hangs overhead
like the illusion of a carrot
as the donkey
desperately avoids the stick
consuming the soil
for capitalistic gain
apathetic to plight
empty..

nothing more than a synthetic mess
a big mac wrapper
thankful the global elite
cares enough to feed the drones
marching conformingly
to the drummers beat

when did the darkness burn so bright
while everyone sits idly as the light fades
why did no one intervene
who cared to know
what happened here

Despite all we've been through
You still believe the lies
The figmented truth they sell us
In neatly folded towels
Ironed sheets and fresh linen
Tempting us with home
A seemingly harmless word
Dragging us under
Sinking us deep
Those words held memories
Drilled into our bones
Buried in the recesses of hearts
While we wander the streets
Clutching to our rags
Nursing broken dreams
Scampering like mice in the night
Tugging at loose ends
On the pieces of frayed cloth
For the unspoken promises
The light at the end of the tunnel
The reward from the journey
You didn't believe me
When I said survival is for the fittest
But you have seen for yourself
There are no such things as miracles

be aware of the sludge pouring from every hole grab the stone that stands alone becoming all the mud tickles the throat no mood since it's matterless plays to love prays wide crawling downstairs the lard breaks slips on itself ******* non existence of all of them ***** fragile vulnerable almost make us count them up the racks the slacks figmented meaty mind-snacks

i wish i could hate them all to be so idiotically radical to explode in infinite gorey fragments of love and lust and sweat

the most potent toxin the one that causes vivid ******* rather than ****** death pity and awkwardness...alas

dear we know so little about love as little as its re-existence outside all poeticality and now we try to convince us in others that we do that we are

your mind one of the best kind make every happily inside the eyes

receive your aethereal caress

To say nothing is to do nothing. Am I nothing at all, and if I were, would you even notice? Figmented into nothing more than imagination, is there a point to this ****** creation. For much is worth, and worth not so much. Is it the man I see before me true? Am I true, if nothing exists, we are nothing. If everything exists, are we everything? Can words really bear the weight of ten thousands slashes across one's flesh? To live, live lively, to love, be lovely and to boast, be boastful. Fermentation is the delegation we thrive on. One must grow, or wither away to nothingness. To hurt or to hate, what are these feelings that make light hearted children into detrimental miscreants. Whose fault, if fault is at hand. Is it all just part of one's make up. The human condition, but what is it to be human? Are you there? Are you listening? Do you Understand? If not there then where and if not listening then whom do you listen and if you don't understand then what is your understanding. What am I saying? Just words to one's ears. Are thine words be blatant or do they have uniformed meaning? Philosophical condemnation, physiatrics fundament reasoning. Enlightened soul, what is a soul? How can one get to igniting it? Barriers effect the basis of our own judgements. Then how can we cry when another judges us on the same basis?

nothing but positive
is in my life to stay
im tired of living
in such a negative way

today is the day
that I can declare
change to the way
I see the way of life.

life itsself is
such a beautiful place
it's filled with yellow Rays
and pink figmented flowers

and at the end of the days
as the nights start to lay
the pretty colors in the sky
say hi, just for a little while.

and finally
im tired of the nasty ways
no more bad days
I declare for myself.