The Broken Heart Of A Thief

The thief’s heart broke

When sleight of hand failed

To hold onto his refuge

Inside another’s care.

Cold-empassioned power

Over objects he desired

Dissevered him form owning

Up to his affairs.

Compassion held at length,

Practiced sparingly at best,

Serves a frigid education

On attatchment’s frail grasp.

Cleverness and cunning

And other secrets of the craft

Stole nothing more than money,

Indifferent to the last.

Clasped in no one’s arms

And kissed by nothing’s lips

To procure another hour

In which to exist.

The theif consumed a fifth,

Broke the bottle, cut his flesh,

Threw himself through fire

Till he physically was numb,

But the bleeding never ceased

In the lovelessness of loss,

His temper always burning,

Wishing feeling would be done.

At length, despair entrenches,

Cruelly cradled in its womb

With his temper snuffed to ashes

And abrasions scabbed away.

To live or not to live,

To steal and not to give,

Decisions made in silence

Over living on this way.

Is it some force of fate

That the labor he hates

Is the credit he desires

Now that all else is dead?

He begs for bitter toil

As a mercy to his hate,

Hoping somehow to be healed

From his existential dread.

The thief turned to begger,

Not for money or relief,

But for service to another

For submission to defeat.

Humbled in desperation,

Pleading to be re-loved,

Bleating for a shelter

Possessed at someone’s feet.

The heart hurt more than hunger,

The misery worse than rage,

The spleandor of his plunder,

The thief, for love, would trade.

Cruelty

Breathless, vacant, fresh but fading

Faint warmth rapidly depleting

Energy released, never to be recaptured

A mind, a pattern, never to be replaced

Cautious footsteps, stepped once too far

One sideways glance that saw too much

An instant, a flash, a rush of violence

Stillness, silence, a brief candle snuffed

No laughter, no tears, just reflection

A warmth-less acknowledgement it was done

Sleepless cruelty doesn’t stop to see

Erase, acquire, and then move along

Wide staring eyes, dry, still, and dead

Mouth agape and hands at her side

Trickling blood, from where I won’t say

Bruised broken skin and one blunted spade

Human, heart-beat, hushed little love

Disappear, decay, and evaporate

Leave us, leave them, loose all your time

Humans, horrors, eat, kill, and desecrate.

It Feels Time To Die

When time passes and slips by so fast,

When I contemplate all that I’ve missed or forsaken,

It pains me to acknowledge my own mistaken steps,

To realize my fault in those moments taken.

To have aged to such a point missing out,

To have lost so many loves I should’ve cherished,

To be floating, numbing myself to indifference,

To have drifted past chances and watched them perish.

Will wisdom prove the worth of my decisions?

Have I lost too much to ever fully recover?

Do empathy and arrogance measure so equally?

Will hiding myself lead anyone to discover?

Choices, to decide what to do, what to be, who I am.

To be, my identity, with vulnerability and shame.

To understand, hidden weaknesses will never leave you.

Emotions leave you empty and cold when restrained.

Too many lost chances, too many disappointments.

Too long living sheltered, pretending to be free.

It feels time to die and murder insecurity.

To live again, opening as wide as I can be.

 

Poison, Pain, and Punishment

He didn’t like the taste.

Both bitter sweet and acrid.

His tongue and throat incensed with displeasure

With a disposition towards inducing vomit.

He swallowed and held in the bile.

It was painful but necessary.

There was no avoiding that poison,

and the sooner it was finished the better.

Ahh, true apothecary.

He could feel it settling in his stomach.

Very soon it would pass into the bloodstream

setting his nerves afire punishingly.

But he knew he would not die.

Pain beyond pain, agony, torture,

but he would not die.

This was not a death sentence.

It was a pain to last a lifetime.

To be remembered, never truly fading,

unless one was miserable enough to become numb to it.

“Fuck you Eve,” he said to himself.

It wasn’t fair, but that was how he felt.

He knew he was getting what he deserved.

But that didn’t stop the anger, or the resentment.

The poison dissolved quickly. He could feel it now.

“God damn you Eve!” He shouted. “God damn! Fuck me!”

Tears fell. Profanities were spat. The worst was soon over.

But the pain was always there beneath the surface.