it comes and
goes,
one way or
another,
from high to
low.

Life tests you in ways unimaginable
to one whom has never lived
outside the palace of shimmering glass,
unclothed in mist-soft silks,
unwarmed by gourmet delights.

unfathomable.

those highs and lows
of life.

to all but they whom have struggled
to find warmth,
to quench thirst,
to fill heart and belly.

incomprehensible.

Sheep don't know
The meaning of the word
Rules.

They know only the barking of the dog
And the howl of the wolf.

There's beauty in sorrow,
if you don't let it grind you down.

I wanted freedom,
But I have been trapped
Between a rotting lemon
And a hard place
For my bones of glass
To bask in the sun.

There's beauty in sorrow,
if you don't let it grind you down.

I wanted shelter
From the acid rains
That came spitting out
Of their ignoble mouths,
Pattering upon my rind
And souring the lemonade.

There's beauty in sorrow,
if you don't let them grind you down.

I wanted love,
But there wasn't any rainbow
At the end of that
Cursed *** of gold
They're all chasing feverishly.

There's beauty in sorrow,
I tell myself, lying as I see nothing else.

Ice is cracking
Under the immense
And unforgiving
Weight of lead skies.

The world is falling,
Plunged into
The vast and punishing
Waters below.

Her lips dissolving
With the cosmic
And unwavering
Chill of the void.

A last breath reverberating
Below the colossal
And vengeful echoing
Of a final word.

Uttered in mourning
Of a momentary
And fragile
Life.

To tread the depths
of long promised
Death.
I long for those
forsaken ashes
of whom they
promised I would
Be.

To wade the shallows
of promises
and stolen childhoods,
in search of
broken glass
to cut away
the ribbons of blood,
and join in silent song
the ones fogotten.

To sink in frigid waves
of bloodied eyes
and shattered teeth,
in desperate need
of tethering.

To bleed away all warmth.

To let the floods
turn crimson,
and the skies rain rust.

To drown in the emptied
innocence of life.

they have to cut it off
because it's rotting
and the viscera
spewing from it
carries a stench of
Desperation.

they have to sever it
and free my writhing body
of it's bleak and pestilent
corruption,
that oily echoing
of coarse
Lamentations.

they have to cleave it away
so that my mortality
could be postponed
for as long as possible.

My soul.
It must be cut.
It must be severed.
It must be cleaved free of me.

This amputation
is the only thing
that could save
my life...

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet there's this child
Clinging to every
Step I take,
Reminding me of
All the spears
Our mother
Chucked at our eyelids.

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet there's a little rebel
Churning the bile
Inside my guts,
Screaming at me
About all the sharp edges
Of the road we walk on.

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet there's all this responsibility
Weighing me down,
And dragging me
Towards the edges
Of this broken glass path.

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet theres an old man
Whispering from the haze.
He tells me to turn back
From this destiny we share.

All that he wants is nothing more than for me to leave him alone.