I don't love you

Can I love?
What is love?
God is love, right?
I guess that means I never loved you,
but merely served as an off-ramp
to God's interstate of love.
Still I miss being used,
to serve a greater purpose.
Maybe someday, when I am prepared,
I can have a transplant
of God's tree.
Just a single root.
It can grow and spread
replacing my veins,
my heart thrusting compliments
and caresses instead of
platelets and plasma.
Maybe someday, when I can feel,
I will want to feel you.

Loving you more isn't the solution to debauchery

A friend once told me,
No matter what choices you make in life
there will be a woman for that you.
Relief surged through my veins
For the immediate, my conscience was on break.
As is typical, ramifications were out of sight,
until I met the pivot point who caused reevaluation.

Her goodness was something I had once tasted,
nay feasted upon.
Looking at her was akin to glimpsing paradise,
an oasis I wandered through once upon.
Her value lay not in her own, but
based the foundation of her existence.
The adventurer was all that I was,

what of two bees, drunken creatures of lavish hedonism fully given over to their deprived ways?

Comfort curls (breathe) calmingly,, capturing carelessly,,,
My bastille is barren: i defend my heart's coffers with quiescence
you make me want to be beautiful, for Me.
You are my friend, rather, The friend.
The familiar weaves bliss into my being.
We tread the path of present accorded
Indulging together and aligning our stars manually...

The two stars, of the east and west, shone on me
for One fleeting moment both lie directly above,
each having laid anchor to my soul.
Either promises the pain of not being the other,
Resulting in ubiquitous regret.

As I bask in the celestial rays, my body is
Consumed
by the specs
turned stains
turned mess
turned worthless
turned complete trash.
Both paths demand cleaning,
the doldrums have set in and
seduce their way out of destruction.
I feel as if the earth beneath me is turning,
separating me from all but the filth.

Will I forever drink from the flowers
that cause me to fall slowly downward,
or finally break free and escape.

Like a dull sweet acid you burn inside me
They struggling in quicksand pulls you deeper
But it really doesn't make any difference
I will slowly be pulled under,
submerged and awoken on the other side,
the side where you can't be.
being wrong feels so right,
until you're being left.
All i want is to be perfect just for you,
but the corrosion ate through that chance.

Procrastination

So I was just thinking about becoming a serial killer. Now I wasn't necessarily contemplating victims or anything, but if you're reading this you definitely made the list. So I have a real problem with procrastinating. It is a bit more far reaching than just putting stuff off, sort of like involuntary procrastination. Like my brain fears it is sinking and tosses mental to-do lists off like extra weight. So I was just think how I would be all excited about killing my first victim, but after that I would just completely forget to go after the next guy. I was also a bit concerned about being super elaborate, like carving the mythological creature that comes to mind when combining the victim and some significant event from my childhood in to their skulls, but then get super lazy and rationalize a cloud being a creature. So my other thought is that I would be so difficult to catch, because I would be flawless when interviewed, possibly influenced by completely forgetting I had ever even committed the crimes. But yeah, if I ever became a serial killer, I would definitely dress up like lady gaga and sing a different one of her songs every time I killed. Somehow I feel like she would be flattered.

Dead Inside

If I prune anymore branches from inside, I don't think anything will be left
But who knows, maybe they will grow back into something a little less bereft

Gasping is for Pussys

I could actually feel the heat leaving my body

It was spiraling away into the night sky

All of my love and emotion left to weave between stars

The blades of grass softly caress my body

their touch embodying the emptiness of their stalks

My eyes stare into the moon's countenance

Searching for depth amongst the voided craters

The only soul barely cohesive surrounded by thick nothingness

A single tear escapes the iron clad lids

A tear that rolls down the hills of bone to free fall into peace

Deprivation of the soul

The only sounds he could hear came from his own footsteps

His mind bucked like a horse whose master lost the reigns

He strove to control the grains of life that slipped from his grasp

He knew he would never stop until that warm light was inside him again

His breath shuddered as he walked away feeling fulfilled

Yet with every step vapors of contentment were left behind

Leaving a revealed tortured child rocking in a corner

Each step whispered the pain inside

The truth apparent with successive exhales

that blended into the cloud of self hatred that would never leave him