“and then,” said the man to the ocean, “come make your home within my chest.
i lost my heart so long ago, Lord knows, i need some rest.”
but, the torrent of rain wouldn’t cease and his words were lost to sea…

there’s a demon devouring his mind,
replacing neurons with little gears
that grind and gyrate in irregular patterns
leaving him fixed with a temporal existence that supersedes understanding
replacing synapses with wires, rearranging into a detrimental mentality.
and, now, there’s nothing in his chest
there’s only a remembrance of loss and death
and his mind has been long since dissected,
now, nothing remains of consequence.

i am driven back to this paper again
after another night of screaming my lungs out.
built of lust and filled with greed,
i am in desperate need of repair.

i will carve her name in the clouds.

i’m drowning on perpetual tides
and i find the best place to kill my anger
is in the typhoons of broiling sound waves.

i strike out, far out to sea, because the guy i mentioned earlier,
well, yeah, that guy is me.
i find my peace at home adrift the reeds.
i must confess
(even if it’s with my last breath,)
“i am the culprit, i am the criminal!”

the silence of my solitude
the chaos-sea in my own mind
i cannot seem to leave it all behind.

i know what i need now
(but i keep dreaming of what i had)
and whenever i hear the soft whispers of unconditional love
they’re silenced by the roar of my guilt.

you built your kingdom in my heart
and i will carry the pieces for the rest of my days.
i am composed of remorse,
i am assembled by my regret.
i couldn’t tell the truth, ‘cause, i was afraid i’d lose you
seems it’s a bit late for that.

i wish i wasn’t so obsessed with tearing myself down.
i have become addicted to digging myself a deeper and deeper
grave in the ground.

when will this be banished?
because i can’t stop thinking of the way she used to look at me.
it’s devolved into a bitter memory and it seems to me that,
with all of this baggage, i’ll never live free.

what did all these sleepless nights mean?
when i told her i loved her, i swore that i meant it,
ten pages, inked in blood, mean nothing
because i am a liar,
because i am a coward.
my enemy is me.

as it was written, “Love never fails.”
so, why, oh, why am i such a failure?