Music is my strongest scent
When the softest tune
Triggers all of what it meant
To come to grips with the end of sentiment
I traveled far in this bed
Came to a tunnel
At the end of my head
And in the light I saw a dream
Where I froze all memory
In a tray next to my hearts glow and gleam
I pull it out when the melody begins
Love letters and holiday inns
Cubes of desire in glasses of gin
In dreams, in misfortune I try to melt
All of which your heart ever felt

So to ravage these eager glimpses of grins so restricted
Will these hungry hearts ever get their fill?
I find anorexic love is such wasted time
It’s like martyrs without a meaning
A world apart
Three worlds from your heart
Forever is such a crowded sound
vibrations of time compete with the voice of a stoic.
Despair is the birth of a constant decay

there was a fleeting ebb
to what was once
adored-
an irony to emptiness
when you're so hollow
you are self absorbed.
and i taste the salt
above my skin
i remember
an ocean of love
in summer-
an affair without sin
a bitter gust delivering
sudden alterations
as i stand against it
to combat change
in this destiny so delicate.
but i breathe it in
just to miss you
for it's something
close to nothing
but grains of memory
are revealed in sand
and i'll feel the cold heart
of winter on my sleeve
in time for summer
to live again-
to hold comfort
in my hands;
to forget
what it's like
to leave.
for i've learned there's more
to life worth keeping
than the arms of a boy
whose soul is weeping.
isolation was your
closest thing to closure
while these breezes
turned to bruises
and all instances
refreshed my past.
driving away or
driving me away
either one was
to justify all of which
you wish you could say.
you said "love is not a toy"
but you were just a boy.

This is the avenging of my mediocrity
Altering into virginal happiness
My ventilated train of thoughts
assist the obsoleteness
of the impression i had
of love.
my reverie of hope
a simple consideration to hold
something i've never come to grips with
for i cant hold on
to what the other has let go of
my knowledge grows
my hand's been raised
for quite some time
an indifference for beings
saturated in ignorance
for they're just caught up
in the years that have passed
my soft feelings
have turned to rock
by the beast himself
i held such languish
but now i toss it all to the killer
i'm walking across the line
of bitterness and betrayal
and grabbing what i missed:
a chance
for things to be
new again.

my alternative inspiration
has long been deceased.
but the clarity of dreams so aspiring
arose from the grave
so succumbing to the doubts
formed by my misfortunate past.
there are letters written
to an empty room
where a callous man lay
in his unfurnished chair.
i breathed exhausted air
into his deserted lungs
and abided the escalation
of his deflated heart.
in time i reached a parallel conclusion
where these hollow endings between lust and love
had disconnected with hearts and heads.
i sympathized with his fevers
and disappointments in desires.
i have forgiven our distance
for solitude was only felt in our beds.
i have forgiven this silence
for it was a gift from my head.
i do not long for anyone that was-
just the feeling;
just because.
i see films of deceit
i hear time pounding through the window
and its consecutive ticking
reminds me these cursed scenes
can be repeated.
i rely on afflicted moments
as steps out the door.

lover’s lament is a foreign phrase.
the failure to follow through
after days and days.
a night well spent amplifies
the objection  of your heart.
the only self-reverence in your hands
is the skill to erase.  
i am desperate with intent
and you’re high off the assumption.
with a whiff of my willingness
your power is content from presumption.  
desire is essential only when
you fear I don’t need you.  
i react to negligence and
all it does is feed you.  
your eyes have averted
as you’re fully aware.  
my will is good but
nothing to spare.  

i need an end to this name
i’ve been given.
i need a start to this life
that’s become bedridden.
you need a friend
in this karmic
game of resentment.  
what decadence a fair-weather
friend will give
for their own contentment.  
i look around and
i’m the only one still trying.  
your poor heart still bleeds
it still bleeds.
it’s still dying.
like a silent revenge
fallen upon my deaf ears.  
i still hear you.
expose yourself but
conceal your regret.
it’s your own self-doubt
you find hard to forget
attack for full control
that you accuse me of stealing
a gift in exchange to retaliate
your warped feeling.  
to be afraid,
to be afraid,
to be afraid.
is to be free.  
and you’re just like me.

when you can’t tell the difference
between clouds and smoke
peaceful heavens or
an eventual choke
when you can’t feel the flicker
of an endless delight
or the flames of a love
no longer in sight.
calloused hands of a brooding man
holding tight to his fear-filled plan
how he kept her heart close
by the rope of his desires
the friction of selfish dwelling
set summer’s glow afire.
his fists were now sore
she could love him no more.
he again, a martyr of love
for her to adore.