If breaking hearts were a sin then I would condemn nearly every woman I've ever met to eternal hellfire.

If love is the purpose then you my dear are the soft hands which open the gates of heaven and guide me through.

I do not wish to dream,
For dreams are illusionary life,
Peopled with phantoms of the living
Reflecting our awakened mind's
Fears, lusts, hopes.
Vanity flavours the subconscious.

There is no rest here.

When I close my eyes I pray for darkness.
I wish to escape into the black,
Silk tendrils of the lost tickle my fancy,
Easing my ever chattering mind
Into micro deaths of sweet silence.
I do not exist,
Neither do you,
Nothing.
It is here that I find comfort.

Solace in the forgetting.