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Poem
The best lines always evade me;
I can never say what must be said
to you, 
to her, 
to them...
to myself.

Mortality whispers in my ear.
Mortality dances about my seer
Allows it. Justly, for justice
folding up my life's essence,
putting it back into the prequel grave
where I was
before I was
a tool for people to use,
a youthfool unleashed putting on a ruse,
wishing for the impossible,
such as a slow, lovely conversation 
beside the golden firelight,
where she is pensively apart
for me,
where I become one with the One Bluest Eye,
transcendence that apprehends
shallow surfaces
passes them over
like the sunset listening to faces cry
over her face dead in the future 
my face as translucent fear
once again 
as Reap aimed his scythe,

and swung. 

Another scar,
another Styx battlescar,
these mental wars have worn my skin
my thoughts unravel on that spindle-prick thin
if I kiss Aurora she will die
I will then turn around and look for him
and cast my di and inhale lye
and see that all along, 
the spirit robber’s Diablo song
the man I told countless times to stop,
to reverse his deceitful heart and ways,
to remember the sunlit, beautiful days...

We may think we are immortal.
How foolish humans are. “Gods.”
I’ll show you a god.
I’ll show you the World’s Hill I crouch atop
battered wings bloody face limbs ungodly limbs tainted
Evil’s evil 
throw your lance and harpoon me from afar, O Grudge,
I am only a god whose breath splits the air
quakes supersede the molding graven stair
down to my tomb awaiting
the hell-fire psalm that’s never fading
if melancholy gods like me
keep trying to achieve immortality…

I'll show you neither god nor human,
but Truth. If only for a moment
Truth became my bloodstream and mind,
then Death and Despair
would be shoved off the face of this Earthen lair.   

Whisk me away, 
O Darling Clementine,
back to the hills 
where our lives were sublime,
where the trees are never chopped,
and my heart cannot be stopped,
addiction is as fiction 
and I am on top.

Into the chilly air I blew,
the vapors skyward bloomed to death.
We are the vapors that bloom unto death,
a ceasing heart just spawns the next.

M’Bluest Eye, M’Clem, you've left me here to die, 
and never hear your voice again.
So once and for all, I give thee up,
these poems hereon, your Name shall be--
nevermore, nevermore-- 
quoth this Pen,
"Ne'er again."
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