There is a greed inside of me  
an apparition that feeds on pity—  
a desperation that would so casually consign you  
to the same misery  
just so I would not be alone.  

A selfishness that would entwine a piece of me  
so tightly along your threads  
that I could never be unstitched  
from the seams of your patchwork,  
knowing that I could never relieve you of that burden,  
never be more than an incessant itch beneath your soul.  

Because in the quiet, in the dark, I sink  
into the horrible truth, like I am  
swallowed up with the light-  
I will always love you,  
but never love you again.

Because in the quiet of the dark, I sink  
into the horrible truth, like I am  
swallowed up with the light-  
I will always love you,  
but never love you again.  

This unbearable knot,  
assuaged only by the vilest condolences—  
the thought that somewhere,  
you are being swallowed up too.

did I love you first, or best or most  
only the wind knows  
  
can I track love’s course, measure  
its comings and goings in  
charts and pin marks or  
  
turn back my rotations to weigh  
all my heart’s prized indiscretions  
as if my balances weren't  
strewn with kissed fingerprints  

all I really know is that in  
those hazy dream days  
my answer was yes-  
the best youth knew how  

and when the wind tastes  
like summer honey sweat  
I still miss you

Why is it the dark thoughts,  
the shadows that hang at the edges of my mind  
that so easily creep out and stain the page?

Though love and joy may be found  
they never seem to draw my heart out into words.  
At least, not in the same way.  

It is regret and misery,  
longing and melancholy  
that moves my hand to compose

The introspections of my afflictions
what could have been or would have been,  
if only…  
if only.  

Perhaps it frees me in some way  
to trap these long lost deliberations with ink.  
With a time and date scribbled down on paper.  
To bother me no more…  
or perhaps, to bother me all the more  

I weigh the merits on my scale.  
To stand firmly on the shore  
or dip my toes into the water  

To let myself sink into that dark place  
to retrieve some trinket from the depths of my soul.  
All the while keeping my head above the waves.  
But what if I tire of treading  
or the weight of love and sorrow pressed together proves too much  
sinking me down below the air  

If I open this door  
what if no one can shut it

A sixth sense for cruelty,  
Like you could smell the paper-thin scent of recovery-  
Waiting for me to stand at the world's edge  
Let the tide slide over my toes  
And imagine myself becoming whole  

Cruel - like it was gifted by the gods  
Like you could sense the feeble first-steps of recovery-  
Waiting for me to stand at the world's edge  
Let the tide slide over my toes  
And imagine myself becoming whole  

You look at me like a Greek myth  
Full of serpent-stone, sirens and Aphrodite  
Remind me how easily you twist me  
Around your wicked finger  
Stake me down in your palm like a sacrifice  

Maligned and mangled at the foot of Olympus  
The spent offering, the naive fool-  
I'll stitch myself together in a practiced ritual,  
And wait for you to shatter me  
On your altar again