Rhyming.

The page quivers in silence,
Angry scratches pour in
Astounding is the way I rape defile the purity
Of the fine white planes.

These words are maudlin
Written on my body and
Angst pouring in the finer tip
Of the revolting pen.

Strangely enough
It feels like the purgatory is
Waiting for the emotions and memories
To connect midnight with desires stirred once

Yes, now, yes, now, now
The page is torn in half
And the ink congeals
On the superficial words
The ink glares back at me
Unwilling to admit the perpetration it has committed.

I stare at the paper.
Fool! Fool! Fool! Betrayer!

Denial

There's something

In a broken piece, that feels

As fragile as china, as precious as gold

Yet

I left my self running in the streets where

You once pretended

That nothing went wrong

And I look now in your precious eyes

And see nothing

Feel nothing

Think nothing

For no thing can think nothing.

The worlds are blankly staring

As your wild eyes glaze over me and find an empty space

And no, no, no, you ingested me well enough

To know these 'no's actually mean nothing

Anymore.


Since I am now beyond that

Why not sit with a glass of wine,

And see, see? There's nothing left to feel about,

What I once was, now is roaming in the darkened streets of this city

Following your shadows

And chasing your dreams.

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.


---------------------------------------- Pablo Neruda

Randomly Mine...

He dies everynight in the darkened room,

His breath stifled by my unheard moans,

He dies every night with his silence,

He dies in shades of grey and muted tones.

* * *

I am the one

Who strangled your dry voice in the dead of the night

Against my pillow where you lay

Your short spiky hair pinning my pillow with their strength

As I pushed you,

Your strong arms flailing,

Your male lips gasping, I do not know

Whether it was ecstasy you felt,

Or your voice screamed for mercy as I dealt you with the denial

Of your breath.

St. Valentine's Day, 2007

In the shadows of broken images

My half-lies become truths

I fight through the valley of darkness

And gain the sordid sense of perfection

That contaminated me. I who am so imperfect,

Unsound, unsung, unheard, must hear

the Voice of those who still live, and wonder

When will my time come?


Its just me. Today, I learnt how to exist

Tomorrow, I just might learn to live.

Just might. But its all in the murky depths,

Where all is lost.

I hope to find it one day, and realize

The glory of this loss, and that fulfillment

Till then, let me lie in peace.