Romance and Other Internal Struggles

Still, even stifled,

Shrieking in the moment;

Ignorant cries of      –    deeper breath,

Whirling, maddening flimsy cycles

Of trepidations – whimsy – is there a gun to

my head, my boyish ruby?

My everlasting fight to the last

ego – ego

Pressed to the toes and palms.

Always landing on that last stretch,

A stretch of infinite strain.        Fuck,

Tightening throats of dust, of horror.

Of all-knowing insides dousing a

Flame, a fire made of perfect light,

Merry days go blind – deaf, dumb,


Chiseling empty numbers into rocks for

Days and years and weeks, not one thought

for the weak, silly, pallid life that lies

behind windows,

holding back the clouds of       putrid denial.

Take this moment and sentence me,

You, us, every ounce of goodness,

To the hammering sound of tales from

The outside – gouge out our


Conduct our demonic choirs,

Beg our masters for eternal      sunshine,

Losing solace, sleep – nevermore,

Understand, let us burn.


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