I could see the necessity in wishing to know, The love I’ve come to commit to my own atrocity. My beauty, you have exquisiteness in every breath, And a mark upon your shoulder has been to count, Each subtle sigh under morning light, In before I come to share my place near your death.
Love at my left hand, and my hope in the right. I am a man of many angles, And many divides to count for too many. There has been desertion staining our hearts, And now I find myself wanting. “For what?” I ask, and then I comprehend it:
I am in awe for the woman who hasn’t rested, Has been afield in the work of too many men, Too many droplets of salt, have played a part on your stress, Come to me, dear woman, when you’ll feel yourself Wanting to fall, and create an imprint Of yourself in the soil.
A devil had made this world, And there is indeed purpose among it. But, to find myself more wanting, For the angelic tears that make a journey, Across your withered cheeks, Makes me find more meaning.
Pleasure me with the face of roses, And feed me your graces, Long, was your tresses, made of ebony. Stone-like, is your heart, and made of the same. Find me next to nectar, Let us leave the sacred altar, And play nude in the mud. Children are ignorant, while question is their infinity.
My beauty with stains of descent, Upon soil, where your ragged flesh lies loose, And a heart burdened in heaviness. I toss more soil to silence whatever flame Is still left to light the Earth, And all its failing dwellers.
Name yourself upon the shape of my arm, Twist yourself about the beautiful objects that stone me, Make me warm, and make me wild, Find me as a man of nothingness.
I feel fame as easily as pleasure, Death and denial go as well As the evening to strife upon life, When we said to ourselves, “We are meant to be, Pleasured by pain, so evenly.”
We are the workers of a plentiful tomorrow, The roses you bring are the tears you’ve shed. As I am in love with the dead, And I will play with the sand, To share our story with those well-read, To finally feel my heart enclosed in this hand.
Up from deprivation, I’ll begin, to raise thee, To my contemplation, I have seen, to pull thee, By my regret, I have not been, to free thee, From a slumber, from a pain, from a madness That should only, be known, to me. Why should thou feel, when I am only, to suffer? Such confuses me, Whenever I see thee, Born with tears, pasted against, thy worn cheeks, And so many tunes, that come as weeps.
Why much sorrow, when the world stands, seemingly true? Denial is but a virtue, so that pain, no longer surrounds. We are, in vain, nested, in pain, Not by darker moments, But by willingness, to express it.
Why much tears, enough to flood plains, with their wetness? I find no meaning, in their existence. I fail to see, thy complexion, As anything, but tied to water, And the great ocean, that surrounds, thy lips.
I have offered kisses, to quell thy mourning, Of what, such a future, of disaster, may bring down Upon thy quivering and aching form.
Let us, make us, miserable no longer, What will pleasure, come as, As birds, where we fly, with wings broken, like deadened gulls, That have, met a storm, to bring them down.
Let us weep no longer, No more, the feeling, of sorrow, of remembrance, to guilt, We are living, in our dreams, in our oceans When we, should be, living in arms.
Find me where wine surrounds, An airport and its buzzing engines. Find me, for me to nestle myself in your heart, Find faces to feel their praise. I will love until eternity is torn apart, We will love until paradise is what surrounds, With violet scents, And beauty’s dose of awe.
Safety is where I will find your touch, Your lips is where I will land my own. At an airport, where landings are general, And your hair, I will run a hand Through, like the running waves that guide A man through the shapes of his own mind.
Love is the feeling to our universe, Transferred in between time. I want your lips, like the redness attached To a petal from a rose; Or like the blush just above your smile, That has raised your rosy cheeks.
You’ll be my cure, will you not? My pain shall fly away from this chest of mine, As we embrace, and see that universe in eyes. You will be my cure, and no one else Shall take your place at my side. Beautiful woman, holy and true, I wield your hands like candles, And take to the world no more disgrace.
Cling upon me, For your immediate comfort. You have wept with a shivering form, And eyes that obey all contention. A face that needs no bliss, as mine Or your own, for the coming deprivation.
Disease me, your wounds of many fields. Kiss me, O woman of much gathered, Suffer not, when the world comes tumbling Upon our bosoms, so wide and heavy. We are but deformed infants, Birthed without care.
When we scream, who will hear us? When we strike, who will we hit? When we bleed, who catches such drops? When we feel, who feels us?
We are so much the crime, the fear for a world, That turns inside out, to see itself. We are the parasites for them, As we care for them.
Oh, beauty. You have oceans too deep for this world, And eyes that would strangle its own veins. Deny me all, so that I may see me maddened, Make me quiver as you do, So that I may break your fall.
Beloved, With scars so engraved, Am I able to dig them out?
Am I am able to see, That which has muddled thee, By the sin we both breathe, In bitter misery?
Bandage these sores, For they’ve accumulated, Vast swarms of flies, Longing to feast.
I have failed my own God, The woman I adored, And now see tragedy, Upon my doorstep. He calls himself, “Death”, And fails to see mercy, Unless that is his wish, One I am too blinded to see.
Females in their term of turmoil, Enemies have betrayed them. I feast and dine upon wine, Upon the blood of a youthful swine, One of which I call “mine”. Until bones are ashes under the guise of time.
Berate me, now and forever, The wickedness, now and forever. Scold me, now to forever, Be unkind, now to the ever.
I am no man, Just a feeble form, Grown old by his bones, And broken by stones.
Petals have fallen, over a naked leaf, The soil has been where I found thee laying, Frozen and dead, with a mark upon thy forehead, The mark of terror. The mark of a beast. The mark from a man, Who knew your heart, taken to keep.
Beloved, with thy tranquil eyes, That I still see, beneath this frail temple, You have hair alike the moss, That has grown over your mausoleum. Beauty made luminescent, By a face now dead, as I imagine all.
Beloved, there is nothing so alive to see, Than my delusion being real. My hands tremble when they extend, For the face gone from this world, For the life gone from this world. Wherever thou be, thou is gone.
Denial has been my labor, Intensive, in its strain. My mind, is now once more, Weary and heavy. Corruption has drawn out tendrils, And through them, I speak words:
“Where was love in its blackness, Where was love in its light, To it, now bare in darkness, To it,now bare in sight.”
My sweet, kiss my bitter lips. My love, how shall we dine on my guilt? My beauty, with everything sweet to see, My bitterness, is yet exquisite.
Under moon and star, Under faces apart, In love and lust in fire, Far, we walk, under the endless fog, To find a memory that was once pleasant. Dream with me, dear woman.
Your black hair comes in long strands, Down to where it reaches your toes. Your lashes, your eyes, and your fingers, All have curves to see, alike the earth, And its curvature. See me as former, never as latter.
Rawest pain and purest shame, Has encompassed me in highest notes. There is memory in my mind, Tears in my eyes, Each one, dropping upon soil at my feet, Feel this with me, dear woman.
Is there Hell to separate us? Is there Heaven to unite us? Is there family to be made, When we die tonight on the frozen rocks?
Beauty has marked my way, By dismembered flesh. This is a tale of remembrance, To one loss, that pined my heart. One that left me aching, One that left me wanting.
Oh, father. When shall you return? Grief has left me with stains Of the countless struggles beneath swaying grass, And petals that fall to my hands, Leave me to count the steps, if you may. Leave me, for you’ve felt not the need to stay.
No blame, upon not even the sickness, I am only in mere longing, from your absence, Your guidance, a shelter that was so aware, To the shadows I cast from myself. To the faces that seem to forget, I hold upon my throne a note that I’ve kept:
One note that reads, “There is much challenge to overcome, Much to see, and much not to believe, There is much wisdom to know, And much more not to show, Nor to share, nor to care.”
I had believed until now, that the world deserves promise, I had believed that the many smiles were true, And until I grew to know, that there’s deceit, Among faces swollen with pride, Among hearts said to be alive. And, among the rest, there we have infant apples.
Few would dare to show themselves, In a world so unkind, as kind. Few would dare to realize the waking tension That bellows the flames around their mark, Into the forests or meadows Of either Heaven or Hell.
We live, as we are, under skies gray and barren, With a wilderness as our hearts, Solid and strewn in the world’s deceit. And I have lost the guidance. I’ve become among it, the deceit and the swelling tension; Fires and waters, making the earth spark and shimmer.
Go well with it, we have faced kingdoms and death. Of grief and pangs of anger, of emperors beheaded. Of despair, confusion, and the overcoming Of a manufactured fame. We were never the ones to earn the world’s trust, As like anyone, whose purpose is it.
We were organic in our compelling, And makeshift in our failings. As humans, we felt the urge to bereave Over that which we hold close To bosoms and hearts, When the latter may never start.
It is winter, and upon this season, Cold compels me to draw close The numbness. The havoc winter brings, to others, Shall bring comfort, upon me. And never will I find beauty to be a cause.
You surround yourself in an ebony shield, An ebony garb, made by your loathing. It feels to me like a weight upon my palms, For I am the one who holds it close, Like a man without the groping tension Of one perpetual shame.
Disease and wine swim well with the other, How famous we are, when in love, But never so graceful as when we are drowning In a current of pain and denial.
Have we love to behold? Have we the moment captured? Oh, beauty. Among you, there are flowers to rain The petals and their thorns, on the soil At my feet.
There’s much that is missing, From your stagnant heart, that does not beat. There’s much that is needed, Beneath this moon that is full of color Belonging to glaciers from the North, And sorrow from a mother.
Find our way to love, we will do, Of daylight and nighttime, as both become The celestial landscape, upon plains of ivory, now. Love, with your eyes under lashes, And a pair of nostrils that breathe the fragrance Of death and its eternal playground. I shall come to love, and love, for eternity.
