she is everything
godly radiance
her warmth envelops me
stabbing
piercing through

within her light
I am known
but I am burning
desecrated, yet blessed by the flames
too close, and yet too far away?

amalgamated I fall
melted wax
feathers
flesh
idiocy

  it feels divine

even the darkest minds can drip gold;
pink roses can bloom behind ****** chain link fences,
as leaves can stay orange as they float in puddles reflecting gray.

there’s always stars in the dark.

I look to the women who smell of gardenia,
whose lips have been kissed by roses.
How they sway so gracefully,
giving life to everything they touch.

One cannot help but to be enamored by their beauty.
Each word from their mouth feels like honey to the ears.
So gentle is their touch, a caress that draws you near.

But every time I touch a flower, it soon withers and dies.
I try and emanate their loving touch, but claw marks are left, and everything around me turns to dust.
I pray to the moon, hoping she might teach me these secrets of the feminine,
yet I seem to lack this untold beauty that they hold.
I am wild and rash, too loud and brash.  
Banshees and Wolves are the feminine in me,
but yet I long for the beauty that is gentle and clean.

To your skin,
I write a thousand sonnets;
She recalls the rain.

To your smell,
I sigh a hundred ancient songs;
She sticks to me like toffee.

And oh,
To your eyes ...
To drown in silt stardust,
To smother in her hues.

To your hands,
I bow in thorns and roses;
She's grasped flesh and bone.

To your lips,
I grow ten dozen lilacs;
She carries the taste of your breath.

And oh,
To your voice ...
To asphyxiate in words,
To choke in her cadence.

And just as your veins will be empty of blood seven decades from now,
The tender love is fleeting.

But the rain still falls,
And the bones remain.

I long to crawl from my own skin.
An emptiness consumes me from within.

Far and wide, I search for a home; a prison it is to exist within my own bones.
A gnawing begins to fill my brain,
maggots and vermin lead my mind astray.
I long for the day I am severed from myself.  

Suffering, I sell my soul
to gods of worlds old,
just to breathe a life free of the suffering that is me.

Does my presence torment your mind? Or does my face etch itself upon your fingers at night ?

Doomed to see but never to touch. Doomed to be a prisoner of memory and fear.

Curses and bloodbaths have summoned you near. Do you feel the weight of my spirit whenever she is near ?

Fated to futility, your mind torments its own being. A mind that longs but never fully seeing.

Endless rivers have I cried for you; now it’s your turn to kneel at my pew.

Tempted to touch, take a bite. Or forever be haunted by my memory into the dusk of an eternal night.