Tales of a Man with Terrible Timing.
They exist in
a contradictory courtship
between the abstract and
specific.
Proclamations attesting to
the Divine
nature of love.
Laments of
time lost. Shrieks
of regret and
betrayal grating at
the worth of it all
How many were written
in hopes of gaining? How many
were
premature?
Which describe
the actuality?
What if they’re all just
pleas
for what can never
truly be?
Are they love songs,
or just songs about love?
(A Plea)
There is a creature
that isn’t quite
alive.
Rather,
It simply seeks to
survive,
thriving on what It believes
is owed.
Taking an
emotional tithe and
fabricating frightening fantasies of
intimacy
and growth.
Its hosts can’t
blame
others for
choosing to
live their lives without
It;
but that doesn’t mean they
enjoy It either.
It slithers from
one to the
next; imprinting Its
ideals and
wants and
needs
onto subjects undeserving of
such psychotic symptoms.
It is envious
and apathetic
all at once.
At Its most microscopic, It is not
made of cells, but
interlinked insecurities.
Its very
presence is
paralyzing
and warrants
nothing
but the
destruction of its
desolate form.
(A Dismissal)
But It is necessary for
the protection of one’s
heart.
It seeks to procure for
Its host
in the least selfish way
possible.
It is self-aware,
knowing Its beneficent nature and
sarcastic sadism.
(An agreement)
There is a creature
whose only goal is to
feed on the happiness
of others, and this time
It wins.
I am enamored with the aspects
you choose to share. Such beauty transcends your
physical glory and
what you believe to be the
flaws of your mind.
Who am I to place the ideal of
my fascination
upon you?
Why should you carry this burden?
I see what you want the world to know, but seek
that which you would hide.
I know myself;
if I could only beg the same from this
Aphrodite who
mirrors your steps.
Haunts my dreams.
Your struggles,
your triumphs, your plans
and regrets
would be a nourishing nectar.
Would that I could do the same
for you. Be the same
for you. Prostrate myself
For You.
I am at a loss, yet cannot cease blabbering in the radiance
of your complexity; the glory
of your authenticity.
Be a balm for the lonely hearts; always.
Know that you brought this man to
slit his wrists and pour forth a
Prayer
in Ink.
