Former goals long before gone,
broken dreams,
hidden in secret behind friends views,
a life in vain.

Doubtless efforts fruitless taken,
countless beatings endured,
still seeking path to milk and honey,
wondering if it hasn´t already resigned.

Value meaningless,
reduced to sheer nothingness,
clouded vision,
not able to recognize it´s worth.

Neither happiness nor sadness,
behind it´s emotionless face,
killing time with dusty distractions
and waiting for something to happen,
that relightens a fire
well known in former days.

The painful part is how he talks like me.

I've got buckets of hands
and they all want to be around you.

The average human body is about 65% water
When I see you my body is about 88% water

I'm satisfied with approximate rhymes.
Like to rain again.
Or to lie for eternity.
I'll say your name for years, that'll sound off too.

Bobbing your head to your favorite song
You lent me an earbud
White noise

The painful part is how he acts like me.

Or maybe it isn't him,
or you,
or me,
maybe it isn't anything at all.
Wouldn't that be terrifying?

You stripped me down
to just my skin;
looked at me,
and behold!
You were unfettered.
You held me still
as I resisted;
childish,
leary of the water.

Not because of my sugar
molecule DNA,
but rather, the lack thereof.
See, I feared that the water,
so often uplifting,
would reveal my ugly tricks.
See, I feared it'd seep right through,
flow between a clavicle,
a cranium,
some ribs.

But persistently you did lather
with the patience of a saint;
washed the chunks, the stench,
the filfth and fear quickly down
a rusted drain.

When the fight in me
did subside, I'd catch you
out of slits to glassy eyes:
solemnly faceded,
but in bright pupils
I did see,
how you'd fallen for a sin like me.

Oh, and it hit me.
The nothingness that somehow held.
And I wailed.
And I cried.
And I bawled until my eyes bled.
And I thought of mother.
And of father.
And of baby sister, and of Craig.
But none of my injustices
Surmounted to you,
and your need to make clean.

And so you scrubbed
with a fever,
to cleanse my every spot.
You are my Savior,
my King,
my God,
and I love you
for every spot you worked
so hard to make
perfect,
For our family name,
I love you,
even if I seem to not feel
as claimed.

In that place dwell,
Memories that swell;
My sojourn, so to speak,
Now dead and bleak.

Where have the days gone?
They did nothing but fawn;
A good place, no more,
Severed like a sore.