Don’t you know I see you,
Filthy lips and dirty eyes,
All aimed at me. 

Filled with all the promise to defile,
With the desired purchase,
You haven’t paid for.

You are persistence,
To the dagger point of harassment,
Trying to capture me.

There is a morbid edge,
To my fascination, 
With your despair.

Did you really think that your clenched hands around my neck and cruel taunting jests were a wooing made irresistible? The the spit dripping down your chin and the rage red splotches of your snarled mouth screaming for control say otherwise.  You aren’t so much disappointed as ashamed.  You knew all your faults like the tectonic plates threatening to collide under the strain that has already cracked open and destroy every connected civilization that associated with you. You were unacceptable before I was ever given the choice to make a decision for myself. I’ll admit there was an allure to your self depreciation.  To the cruel almost mutilating way you cut yourself to piece and deduce yourself to nothingness.  To the way you question your validation, like you are a hundred dollar bill that you’re holding up to the light to see if you’re real.  I’ll confess that the artist in me wanted to collect your fragments and create a masterpiece out of your dismembered beauty. There is something there, my minds eye gasped.  There is something hidden. I didn’t know.  I couldn’t of fathomed that your secret gardens were locked grounds, even for you. Then my heart did break and over flow with words I could never stay.  With paragraphs of descriptive beauty you’d never understand if you didn’t explore them yourself.  It tears at your the curiosity that you put aside with all the doubts you started believing about yourself.  This barbarous garden was running rampant with the savage beauty of untended wilderness. You are a forest of wonders and all you can do is saturate in your self pity.  It’s a disservice to everything that is precious within you; that you have been too distracted to notice, and now are too determined to destroy.  Now the crackle of anger seethes it’s flame like an under water sleeping volcano awakened from its slumber.  Your lips are anguish against my study and your fingers are sandpaper that you have rubbed my skin raw against, trying to feel something.  I think you are too depersonalized to realize we are two separate people.  You try to suck my sensations out of me.  Try to capture any inkling of the observations I make of you.  You come malevolently like a robber in the night.  You won’t accept denial. You’ve become too desperate yet not desperate enough to pillage within yourself down to that seeping core.  Maybe you really are driving blind with no direction for what you are looking for. It’s unbearable to watch you crash so insistently when all you have to do is look at your own map for directions.  With my eyes shut tight and your heart pounding in my ears I know that death is more than we ever conceived it to be.  More than we ever dared to give it credit for.  It’s deliberate like our choices,  ever creeping towards our neglectful decisions,  hunting us down like graceful antelope between our ascending leaps.  It’s deliberate like our actions,  ever drifting towards our accountability, tenderly approaching us like regal swans with nothing but our efforts and the wind between our ever unveiling flight. It’s deliberate like all of our naked perceptions. It’s deliberate like your misguided aggression and your misconstrued self doubts. It’s deliberate but not insurmountable. Not infallible.  Don’t discredit yourself.  Like death we often are discredited and more often than not by our own hand.


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