• Kill me slowly, let me suffer; breaking, bending, thrashing, flailing.
    Love me fast, get it over with before you fill with remorse.
    Weep for me not, for this is what you wished for.
    Hate me forever, but know that forever I will love you
    ----------------------------------------------------
    The scars on my wrists betray myself, my thoughts, and feelings. I don't want to kill myself because "I can't take it", That sickens me... I want it to end because I can't keep causing pain... A pestilence upon the ones I love... Is that what I want to be? No. Papercuts on my heart when I hurt you. I bleed, I hurt, I cry, I take a breath and look in the mirror. I look in the mirror and I see the stuff of nightmares, I hate myself and everything I am. I can love you forever, but only if you hate me. Things shouldn't be okay, you should hate me forever, yet every day you confess your love for me anew.
    And I love you too
    When I say beyond forever...
    I MEAN IT!
    Forever and a day, baby
    That;s how long you have me.
    --------------------------------
    An antisocial butterfly, fluttering and flying with its wingbeats silent and it colored black. When spoken to she smiles and says, "Good bye we're falling fast"
    ------------------------------
    THe suffering ends, a hug a kiss.
    The love begins, I told you and smile
    The love is there always and forever.
    Each Day a new confession to keep the love alive, each day a renewed affection.
    And each day we love
    Penguin and Crow
    Two birds of a Feather
    ----------------------------
    Blood-stained sheets and a half-naked corpse, the razor he holds rusted with blood, the gashes on his wrists congealed, his eyes milk white. The only sound heard is the voice of Robert Smith coming from the speakers. It could be days before he's found. After all no one loves him right?
    Suddenly the doorknob jiggles, the lock turns and a young woman walks in. She drops what she holds and falls to her knees. She weeps unable to scream, her love is dead and her eyes are as cloudy as his. She turns off the music and looks around.
    "Am I the sickness or am I the cure?" scrawled in blood above him. The only thing she grabs is the book on the table. It was his favorite. She stumbles out the door with tears still in her eyes. It hurts too much to stay.
    -----------------------------------
    The Cuts on my wrist spell something out,
    I love you goodbye
    The blood in the sink forms words,
    I wanted to stay.
    The water flowing down the drain sings,
    I'm sorry.
    The sighs that escape whisper,
    I'm Sorry.
    The clack of the razor is my eulogy and my epitaph remains these three simple words.
    I'm sorry love.
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    Is it truly important to have faith in something? To believe in some higher power? And why is that? So we can blindly follow something we can't prove? Like lemmings off a proverbial cliff. What is God but a sadistic pile or s**t? People blame the 'devil' for their own shortcomings and thank God when things go right. It's utter bullshit and I'm fed up with it. Faith may be important but faith in bullshit is foolish at best. Believe in something worthwhile and remember.... Friends don't let friends join churches!
    ------------------------------------------
    The Mask The knife
    Tense with strife
    To kill or live
    To Slaughter or save
    He asks himself these questions and tosses the coin.
    -----------------------------------------
    Foot Prints in the snow leave a trail to where the lovers wait, held in each others arms, pressed together, smiles alight their otherwise cold faces. A smile breaks his gave as he places a box in her cold hands. She gasps and cries as she opens it. Nature itself quiets, she kisses him and whispers one word.
    'Yes'
    He laughs as his heart pounds, the wind dies down. He kisses her and whispers in her ear.

    I love you.

    ***Note: A few people now have asked me if winter is symbolic for death. I cannot say because I leave all of my poems to the interpretation of the reader.
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    Fevered dreams bring through the wasteland of my mind images of her, so close but always fleeting, never staying long enough for to become real. Trapped in this endless nightmare, no claim to reality but the hope of a cause to be lost within the inner machinations of my heart. Love her I do with every last bit of affection my essence can muster. Leave her I will not for the pain I will endure would be the pain of death tenfold. Wait for her I shall for the hope it brings gets me in between futile days. I shall remain hers, in dream, in life, in death I am hers, My blue-eyes.