What worlds we have created,
like giving birth, but not to babes;
to swirls of light, and fractured darkness.

It is as husband,
it is as wife,

To create these storms of color.

And my heart is,
torn. In pieces,
torn. In tatters; forlorn.

In the folding in
of our creative blur,
where continents collide,

A clash of emotions stirs;

And I am not to talk about this hurt.

I didn’t know her,
but she stalked me in the darkness;
always taking tally of my conjectures.

Then she stood, stark naked
in front of my mirror,
baring everything.

It wasn’t my plan,
to crumble.

But I fell to pieces.
Destroying everything around me.

If you give me what I want,
let my heart be reigned in;
regarding other thoughts,
and other names.

So shines
a beacon
in the dark,

Keeping out
the dangers
of the night.

Is this dead?
Am I burning my fuel in the wrong oven?
My love for you is so strong,
but unwelcomed.
Yes I can change, and I want to change.
But you only want to slap my wrists, for every word I utter.
No encouragement, just chastisement.
No welcoming, open arms.
Just a void where love once dwelt.

Authenticity; a drop of LSD,
chemotherapy, the root of every evil.
Here, in my mind’s eye, I
cleanse the surface and peer through
glass. Plastic lens shakes,

God pretends
to calm me.

But I shake violently,
and the whispers in my head
scream silently, “who are you?”

Sunken rot bleeds into the pools
of the unconscious mind, contaminating
every facet.

Blood thirst.

An ecumenical first,
deity of sound and destructive waves,
clashing with the music I’ve been playing.

An egotistical serenade.

Husk; polluted shoreline; an unauthentic shell,
positioned between a throbbing pain,
and the gateway;

Moistened parabola,
words not wisdom,
seething and festering
sunken hollow,

Death brings me deeper
into the mire. Where love
lasts no more.

I’ve lost.

The game has played out,
and I am no Victor.