being me

a torn essence, brilliance

unmade. a light

unraveling. i am

a man of many hearts,

divided. a disunity.

so much hope, so much

dread. i am

near this

insurmountable distance,

always

on the edge.

flying or falling,

it's all the same. a

swirling tide coming

going

washing ashore, tumbled

tangled stretched out

dissolving

reuniting with the sea.

where the light is flat,

abused and discarded, worn

to a fray 

speaking like shadows.

i once was lost but now i'm

found, in another place

in another time. always

the same. i am this

light with no limit,

crashing into walls, scattered.

i taste of shadows, growing

inside out. i am this

darkness with no limit,

spread out wingless, filling

the air.

and me? and

me?

i am a simulacrum of

sensation. bound to love

for no other reason

than to suffer its 

every

        d

          r

           o

             p

of confused

beauty.

falling

a fallen body of light, life
like, occupying
warped space and time, dimensionless.
there is no limit to emptiness.
what is given
unto these pretenses we call
life, or love hate happiness
spectrum of light
we inhabit. so narrow
its limitless sorrow, pleasure
we crave, to carve
out our slice of this
existence, a fluid
meat of sensation. we
are animated corpses
resurrecting broken dreams
from an unwoven rainbow.
life is not a dream!
there is no waking, there
is only an enormous
shadow of tears, both
sun and moon together,
binding suffering
to joy.

love is something
to die for or to die
from.
no one here
gets out alive.

loneliness, with mahler

my loneliness ages
as a fine vintage
harvest
of repetitive autumns
forever wintering in
these
depths of dark
heartedness
springing forth now
as i accompany my
self through this season,
a sadness like summer
passing
knowing all
is fleeting

loneliness is knowing
connection
knowing what was what
can be but
isn't

my loneliness is fine
tuned to these melancholy
strings
strung out on love, strafed
by life scraping
by
watching myself passing
through just passing
through,

just

loving hate

forgetting
        you is
a backwards loving
like
back words
to be un  spoken,
broken down
left to
de compose

i vacate
you of my heart
        hating love
and loving
hate, finding comfort
in different
feel  ings
like
things left
withering

hating
you is
a backwards loving
e motion
moving through
rinsing cleansing
rising within me
growing with
out_you

closure

as in some finality, exactitude
of acceptance, that
last word, ultimate
assurance of no
day dawning, a
sunrise not for
us, but
for the memory
of what wasn't

the day of reckoning
that comes, when
truth bares its naked
face, knowing
that hopes and dreams
are merely
that, only subtle
thoughts i cling to,
the ultimate
foolishness.

when my heart, laid
bare, exists in the sun
withering, under
your gaze unmet,
i expand to seek some
semblance of meaning,
yearning, pleading
for peace only you
can provide, whether
for death or life. the only

thing i need is your
assurance, the nail
for my coffin i
bury our memories within,
so i may live with
you, without
you.

love or lie

is love a lie? i ask
earnestly.
being

confronted, faced
with this journey
toward not loving

you, which
is a lie, that
final act

of lying to my
self, saying
i no longer love

you. the distance
between us
measures

how much i miss
you, and that
distance

is immeasurable. my
heart beside this
sea, heart

you briefly held, where
now its paltry wings
now stoney and

scaled, heart
that beats, breathes
your name, even

as i try to forget
your name your
visage, scent.

war is hell, war
within the self
gives hell its flames,

defines the meaning
of cold solitude. when i
force myself to not

love you, i love you
even more.
how could it be

any different, since
i built this room
within my heart

you dwell within, even
as you vacate it,
always remaining.

suicide

pain is a pistol to the head, loneliness
like a knife at the wrist. a sad
handful of pills poised
to still the swirling
thoughts feelings swallowed.
a noose to end the nonsense
above the neck. feelings
are constant, live
drownings bottomless, endless
burning fire.

how easy it would be, slipping
silently away. as i do.

as suicide is this suffering, these
sleepless dreams, smoked drinks
solitary, missed meals
anxious and nauseous. a suicide
not so sudden, more
subtle and sentimental.

how easily i watch myself
slipping away. returning
for more.

journey of a tear

heart's a garden, on

guard, open

to silently

subtle winds,

still. seeds

you plant

before the rain,

sprouting

the inevitable

tear. streaming

cheeks creeks

i have hidden

within. head

waters spring

from the heart,

feelings as seasons,

cyclical, as heart

ache. as hope. as

this journey

toward peace,

closure for

giving. giving

for my sake

of living

to watch this

tear flow

from heart to eye

and back again. and

back again. watering

this garden 

heart i tend

without you.

the 135 lb heart

this heart i hold, an impossible burden, its

skins scars shards hard

to the touch, heavy.

135 lbs of aching flesh, trying to

shed it all, as a long drawn 

out suicide. a heart

that weighs as much as 

me, as much as my

heart outweighs me. an

infinite capacity to love. as

infinite as my capacity

to suffer. the distance between

loving you and suffering

over you, a wilderness of sleep

less nights, in between

two darknesses dragging. i crawl

from loving to not loving

you, alone on these knees,

stuck in the middle of no

where.

why this heart, this burden it

holds me to. laden with all

the loneliest memories

with and with

out you. 

i am this

blank page of suffering written

by your silence. as all hope fades

i cling to my solitary darkness,

tending a tiny flame flickering,

its reaches far from mere

thought, a wordless expanse only

i listen to.

i suffer from loving

too much. i suffer

from loving too little. life

would be better without

love, and should you wonder

whether it would get lonely,

don't worry, it already

is.