While writing other things:
De Incendiis Corporis Humani Spontaneis
I hate the both of you,
one times 2,
one times 3.
She is ugly in a beautiful kind of way
She is beautiful in ugly kind of way
In the morning she will have a story
to tell of how she narrowly avoided getting wet.
I have felt your
hands slipping before-
maybe I've no right
to try to hold
your hand tighter.
From the moment you came into my life,
I've tried to prepare for you leaving.
(We have that in common)
But if you don't hear from me again,
its because i've run out of ways to
say I'm sorry.
Letting you in,
has been a most dangerous thing.
to the damage I do to myself
you and all the rest,
have been amateurs.
"If you want something done right,
you gotta do it your self."
I was told-
that my soul
that suffering was the surest way to you.
There are times
I question everything you do.
Including your very existence.
In matters of my heart,
I thought you most cruel.
Waiting to the last possible moment to answer.
I don't want to suffer anymore.
So you've granted me
You let me see you in eyes of woman.
You let me feel you in her heart.
You let me feel you in my own heart.
Then you took it away.
So hands join together not hold, but to clap
So she says "its time to go, I drawn you a map.
So the spring that released set in motion a trap
So empty the box, left behind like the gift to unwrap
We will never die,
though the flame will
weaken into embers.
What was once a raging fire-
(consuming all in its path)
must become ashes.
There is a cycle of destruction and birth.
what came before
what comes after,
what was destroyed this cycle
It gives birth to us.
For the moment, I feel they have lifted the curse,
the one given to me at birth, to carry by hearse, on my way back to the earth.