Unfinished

(Written September 29, 2012, at 11:00 pm.)

Chew my flesh between your unforgiving teeth.
Forget the funeral and forget the wreath.
Massage my neck until it breaks.
Feed me the truth until it takes.

Kiss my fingers with unwilling lips.
In an undesiring embrace, take my hips.
Lay your palm on the lowest of my back.
Breathe once, then let the universe crack.

As the world crumbles, and you panic,
Hear my reluctant heart painfully tick.
Your head against my broken breast
Can unsatisfactorily go to rest.

Even as you dream of better realities,
Think of me as your terminal tease:
Nothing you ever wanted, yet all you had,
Painting the pathetic and singing the sad.

Feel my mouth against your chest,
Fail my desires in every test.
Scatter my pieces on every part of you,
As all the Love in the World smelts into Blue.

Breathe in the colour of the subsuming nullity.
Revel in yourself, and forget all of me.
Bite me, in farewell, one last time.
Leave me unfinished in your memory sublime.

Make or Break

(Written September 26, 2012, at 10:00 pm.)

You found some part of me I didn't know was there.
You gave it blood and you gave it air.
Then you left and it turned to stone,
And I learned that we are all alone.

You told me that when push came to shove,
I could always rely on love.
Then you moved on from this,
And proved that transience is part of bliss.

You taught me hope and taught me to believe,
That when we are willing to give, we will receive.
Then you showed that willingness to give doesn't last,
And the best can often be lost in the past.

You convinced me that unconditional exists,
And through ups and downs, love persists.
Then you proved that forgiveness is an order tall,
That mistakes of a moment can end it all.

And I'm just now wondering:

Am I better off having felt your kiss?
Or worse off aware of what I miss?

Am I better off knowing that there's love in hearts?
Or worse off knowing it ends as easily as it starts?

Did you make me?
Or did you break me?

Dead Stars

(Written September 24, 2012, at 3:15 am.)

Every dead star in the sky is us.
No longer extant,
But reaching across time to the present.