And how does that make you feel?

.... is a stupid question. How much time, how much pain and how much passion? Feeling is only disbelieving, and your denial is synonymous with forgotten memories I suspect you wish to abandon, and makes me think that leaving (always leaving) is my only choice. What am I doing with these strangulating hands, mistaking anger for desire? In my mind it has always been time immemorial, her raging, clawing hands against the most well-loved body, her love / her life / her unbecoming that I did not know I would inherit until I could see for myself all too clearly that her satisfaction is the only familiar expression I can respond to your affections.

I know you think that her version of love– the love for sadness – was madness; I need to see you cry before I believe you and I am selfish as I run the jagged edge of a glass plate over my arms to see the veins pop so help me cosmic universe, lie to me and tell me the truth and destroy me in every way possible so I cannot tell the difference between reality and imagination.

Punishment: I grow inwards, I become her in every way just to make you feel the guilt that I feel, and I am terrible in my ways but remember now I suffer in the same exact way as I become the depths of her contours, her raw and rugged distaste for certain colours, and her organs that swell up every time I see you in the morning light when it rains. There is only one thing you should know: it is the same for me as it is for her, and this is my punishment, ad infinitum.

Between forgiving and forgetting /

still yours, my love

Forty Minutes on a Wooden Bench

You underestimate my ability to need someone more than you expect; my weak and weathered wrists up against the blue whirlpool and thunders in your irises as they contracts and expand – (with desire or anger or confusion?)

Always my biggest weakness: my utmost and overwhelming affections and life imagined, but constantly needing the ache of your past so I can remember my faults even if I had not yet met you / the sane are insane and so am I. Such as maybe, light chestnut hair aglow in continental sun, but now I implore that you accept my pulverized words in place of cowardice. My knees that go numb in the dead of night, that too, always choosing pain with pleasure but never one in isolation and for that she will taste like sweet clementines and I, stained with blood orange instead (bitter) so who would blame you?

In the very end, my your our pleasure, pain and most of all, power is but the terror of my disquieting heart of hearts

Caesura

When even day robs you of articulation, you are faced with the powerful and the powerless and who will bear the burdens of victory, the mark of Cain? When I chose which moment of history to relive once more I was already gravely mistaken – stranger thoughts stranger still my crippling fear that you yourself only a beacon of destruction and devastation, nothing more or even less. Ashes to ashes, pristine feet rises anew only to witness the birthing of a tragedy that befalls finitely in an infinite time. Stop telling me how I should feel at your expense / even at worlds apart I have brought you to perish, to die along with I

tempus fugit 

Exemption From Meaning

Again. In dreams [les rêves] - even then it is unrelenting, because I had thought you knew the lines I was reading; and again today. It is disheartening to see what you once thought were 'inexplicables' now so reduced in self-loathe, lost in translation from nerve endings to manufactured speech, so unnecessary, so limberly portrayed, so... trivial. 

(Last night, speaking to someone my mother thinks can help (with what?) -)

On distance: ever present, ever engaging but lately reacting to my exponential panic and most of all, the abject condition of the fear. A childish game not even worth mentioning, courage recedes and here is the question: what am I, who am I to own good fortunes as a passing stranger as you make your way through Syracuse or trailing death in Pompeii? 

Verité (Finale)

The conversations we have in my dreams, they feel like a benediction. You are the phantom torso that I grow to love, and part of the insufferable silence that vindicates an anguished romance that once was/could be and (feels like what) will be: the power in my hands that comes from your small infinitesimal glances, through imaginary corridors filled with whispers and oh, the torment of my soul - perhaps my mishaps mistook me as more than a mistress of my misfortunes, and yet

here we hardly see through one another, how do I begin to describe something from some inane corner of a scarce and weary mind, and perhaps not even real? It is easy to recite the great works and be foolishly romanticized, but a deafening thud is forthcoming should I know that you are indifferent, and is that not what I fear? That you should not care about my adoration, albeit childish, is like drowning in the dark depths of the Black Sea and for that, all my wounds shall never heal. And in being faint-hearted and weak, are my vainglory attempts at belying dignity and pride- I shall only hope you will not see a sham in my fortitude. Sometimes I implore in telepathic apathy that you will one day understand what I cannot even begin to tell you, shamelessly and recklessly- and for that I am often dismayed, although not entirely unpredictable. Once, we spoke in the codes of dream; it is a shame that life does not imitate wonders. A counterfeit assumes your identity but I understand the truth, I screamed over insanity and realize that this is not you, but the truth is never where I want it to be.

Afterthought

I wanted to wear my rosary beads the first time I slept with you but I didn't have mine with me. Luckily your dusty bible on the bedside table made up for it. What is it about defiance of all that is holy that begets human desire but pre-empts emotions? The sheer brilliance of our plan is made up of shams, something which Maureen warned me about. There is no upside or downside. I feel - I feel - that it was an act of spite, all the dead weight in the air and thinking about the bodies that were slain in the same spot before me. I do not pronounce it as acts of cruelty, merely acts of cowardice. One feels small in the eye of grander catastrophes, my woes are but the scratch of a world that is unfolding from your (un)doing and unbeknownst to even the smallest of your mind. Who cares about your achievements (I assure you I did not) when your purposes did not impress, only unabashed at best

Several questions worth examining include:

Are names important?
Are bodies burnt by the sun, cracked from winds of the Mediterranean still worth exploring?
Is there decorum in our minds?

Your sins are as great if not greater than mine, at least my sighs were negligible acts of repentance / do not lie to me or I will fuck you up, the end of the era is near and for all the grand illusions you plan to conspire I wish you none the best

perhaps your only action is to perjure yourself for a Greater Cause

I Find It Hard to Say Goodbye

in mississippi we were god-fearing people, when your father died you brought me to his grave that read : "forgetful not forgotten" i laughed inappropriately in the wake of His Greatness. I left you since - you dead-eyed child, o lover of my soul, far too kind and gentle

time! is! immortalized! you tell me, I do not believe such lies in face of The Great Truth and important words will be not forgotten so easily, look at me look at what you've destroyed in me? then tell me about time and your bullshit. When you reach the gates of Heaven you will learn the lessons I have taught you

The Rapture

is here. your dying words are: "my hands are bound I cannot save you...... please save yourself" I licked your salty tears off your face so I have not lost you entirely, before I cease to exist choose I expected too much from someone who sacrificed too little. i am thus a matyr of my pride, we can only exist at one point infinitely:

"time is running out my wonderful"

(our father in Heaven)

"kneel before the light and the Glory"

(hallowed be Thy name)

"do not leave me please"

(Your Kingdom come)

"choose wisely"

(your will be done)

"past,"

(deliver us from evil)

"present,"

(LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION)

"or future"

(darkness)