The past speaks
to the present
often loudly
and with rancour
not content
to be buried:

revive me
reconstruct
the foundations
I've laid
let them perish never

for
there's a beginning
in everything
too well you know
I've been used
and abused
spited upon
and misinterpreted

wrong
must be righted
lest truth
be crucified
I await
to be resurrected

I was the voice
of conscience
the repository
of every man
and woman's tears
the refuge and sanctuary
of their pain and fears
the face and emblem
of humanity
over countless years

I stand
in dignity
still--
I won't step aside

I'll fight
for my right
oblivion
I'll not accept
lest in silence
I waste away
and in some
forgotten corner
weep and die.

you are a silhouette cut-out.
if only i could fit into you.

out of proportion?
parts; poking and cratering
across my body to make
this mismatch of flesh.

am i god's leftovers?
or is that too divine?
i'm what everyone else
simply left behind.

i thought my heart
too big, too full, too red,
but the dark side of it,
is horror, near-dead.

disproportionate - yes.
in the physical, emotional,
metaphorical sense.

i am an uneven hill surface.
cannot complain when no one
bothers to clamour across it
to see the dark side of the moon.

Run down the stairs of despair
A fast descent
Nothing has ever been clearer
My will and hope bent
Death the final chapter

Hands like bodies,
rough and calloused,
smooth and soft,
freckled knuckles,
blemished palms,
with cuts and scars littered like stars,
short and stubby or long and thin,
different skins and many strings.

Despite their difference,
they share the same sins,
capable of giving gifts,
but also skilled in petty theft.

Warm and kind caresses,
bruised and ****** stresses,
a gentle yet expressive message,
fingers trail like searing fire upon wry shaking lips.

my head feels so full
and so empty
at the same time
it feels like nothing
and everything
at the same time

Dear death,

I have met life,
He wants me to fight,
But I'm so weak-
So can we meet?