Once Is

Just getting it off my chest I guess.

What once was is was never should be.

I can't find myself in the self adulating chronicle of fear that

documents my every move.


What had me once stolen away from the people returns to shed

everlasting darkness on a creature that longs for the light.


What happened? What went wrong? Not a fiber of my being should hold

the vengance that now wrecks upon my soul.


Insomnia, nausea, pain in my heart. My head is screaming, calling reprieve to a god

that will not hear his cries.


Don't look at me, you cannot understand the bellowing anger that lurks beneath this

gentle visage. It's coming to a close, what is I'm not sure, but I still pray to the

immortal fool that captivates my stringed lust filled core.


What is love? I feel it, I know it, I long for it. I have it, I hold it, I treasure it,

yet it is all for a soul that given circumstance would not be here with I.


I'd cradle your head for a long time-bound night, and forever would we gaze upon

the ruins of man yet


I am lost all the same. I send candies and love songs through a courier of innocence

but while contemplating the effervescent love that is bridled not by shame.


I still cast wavering glances toward succubi unappealing, creatures tasteless and inherently appalling that beckon me forth.


How can you love yet deny yet recourse? How can you allocate your emotions

the most important ones of all

yet still a moment in next give them away to a person you would not step forward

to save?


This love

This heart

This troubled mind.


All of the mistakes I've made, haunting, crawling, terrorizing, prodding, poking,

maliciously affronting the place I'd nay call refuge.


The escape, the only escape, is one of sacrifice. Do I take my own life to free myself

of the troubles of a poor weak and mortal man? Do I end my fabricated trial in

consciousness because of this frustrating annoyance that should not have such a

hold on my thoughts?


For what purpose am I 'sad', what purpose am I 'angry', for what purpose do I drive

myself forward into an abysmal depression that is unwarranted save this odd

eroticism to masochistically violate my own morals?


Perhaps there is more than the obvious answer, the one that lays at the hole of a

cool metal heater.


Yet, while I might not answer any questions, one determination is set.

I am sad.

The End

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