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Sensible

If it were sensible to love you,
then everyone would do so,
and as I sit across from loneliness
in this kitchenette, I contemplate
how the table, much like my heart,
pivots on an angle.

To which would I be referring,
the blistered legs or decayed heart,
when I gently touch the texture
and wonder if its origins
are similar to my own?

Once proud and strong
in a wilderness of shrubbery and undergrowth,
now that which stood for centuries,
admiring the still changing world,
was crippled most severely
by a single blow.

I, who sits beside myself
acknowledges such strife,
a liquid beverage running like a busted tap
along the curvature of my face.
A salty droplet collapses
upon the table top, the misery
of both myself and the furniture,
which helps keep me upright,
becoming unanimously combined.

Where one mourns the loss of comradery,
exhibited from the fellow environmental beasts,
I cry anonymously for a woman,
struck down by an avalanche
of lightning fast pain.

Never will you return to the great beauty
I fell hopelessly in romance with,
and out of all the patron’s in life’s orchestra,
this fair princess of goodly will,
now isolated and distressed,
is the one tender soul who never did deserve
that which indefinitely ruins you.

Into the Sunset

Euthanasia my heart, if you will,
so I may feel no more. Despite the light
of life blossoming before me,
I require a permanent reprieve
from the pain of never knowing
love again. The feeling slipped
so suddenly that one time
through my fingers, and no matter
what tactic I attempt, I am erased
from passion’s vision. No longer
can I claim the touch
of a would be paramour,
my heart becoming entrenched
in a pool of paramount distress.
I can feel little more
than the fatigue of loss,
as I witness the woman
I would wish to make my own,
vanish into the sunset evermore.

Shangri La

Alas, you have come to claim defeat,
to which there is no answer,
says the voice of troubled reason,
and thus, I leave so discontent.
I am no chummy conversationalist,
but if I were to look at you like the Goddess,
as the dawn breaks on the cusp
of a beautiful morning, with dew settling
in upon the leaves, glistening
under the light, and birds chirping
happily, singing awake the Shangri La
of Spring, would you confess
an appreciation towards these eyes,
which dance across your beauty?
Let us be honest for a moment,
in this hall of monsters, what titles
do you have which I do not,
that prevents me from touching
the curvature of your silk heart?
I hardly expect a response
from someone such as yourself,
who has been granted everything
by the grace of Godly beings,
and only now in your presence,
do I realize the foolish extreme
I have gone to, in the hopes
of calling your love my own.
But if happiness were to abound
for one decent moment, may your footprints
fall upon the path, so I can one day
follow once you have readied
yourself for my affection. If my wish
were to be granted your acceptance,
I would wait for aeons, before the realization
your love would not arrive collapsed
atop of me, and any moment afterwards
would not prove early enough
to spell an adoring future, the toxic
memories of lonesomeness
filling me with doubt, until, in your absence,
I forget the feelings I once had.
Sadly it is too late for me. Do not waste
your words or tears upon my fractured
existence, for I am already dead
inside, and no amount of kindness
will ever sympathize with the ever growing pain
of never knowing how your lips
taste upon my own.

Yet to Find my Love

Will I be met in a future
not yet determined
by a graceful love interest?
Oh, sweet paramour,
might you caress my heart (perhaps)?
Or is it lunacy to compare
the love of fairy tales
with morbid reality, the taste
of which is never
as delectable. After all,
what is this insatiable desire
called love, but a chemical reaction
of the mind, and like all chemicals,
the drugged effect it induces
offers no reprieve from the reality
we face. Humans are mammals,
and mammals do not
mate for life; nothing
is ever permanent.
It is all make believe,
and I do not know who it is
we are trying to fool, when romantic
couples remain together
for years and years. The fighting;
the bickering; the cheating;
is it not enough to end
a marriage? To sever
a connection, permanently,
with a paramour, turned villain?
Remain together long enough
and everybody becomes
the bad guy; no heroes ever fall
in love. Why bother spending
so much money on counseling
and therapy? The love once felt
died long before the first kiss
was ever implemented.
Maybe, however doubtful
it might be, these are just
my thoughts gone rogue.
Maybe I do not wish
for happiness, but for something
else instead, deep within
the bowels of my supposed soul,
believing myself ripe for suffering,
as punishment, for not
already finding love.

In Your Eyes

If I were to complain about my romantic
circumstance, who would listen to my woe?
Despite my feelings, I have doubts
you would come to my rescue,
and even so, I am inclined to ask,
what am I to you? What exactly do I look like
in your eyes? If I were not so shit-faced
after trying to reduce the darkest colors
of my depression, from being frequently excluded
in a town without a need for me,
perhaps I might have spared a chance
to hear your words with much attention
evermore. If I were to excuse my actions
though, I would retort by noting how
I have been disqualified for living
once before, the truth of it being,
that in this town, nobody ever wants to know
the real inside. What words did you ever say
to me, which were not meant for other ears,
because the moments we spent together
just so briefly, contained a dire silence
I could not help but get away from.
One of us ought to take the lead
and open up, but never does such seriousness
penetrate the want we shall never have,
except for in my dreams, to kiss
the other on the lips and confess
the honest truth; I love you.
It is so unfortunate fair maidens
do not want these words to come from lips
of mine, else I would have said
them long ago, before the two of us
were on the verge of separation,
and now that chance, so fleeting,
cannot ever be resuscitated once again.

The Chasm of Love’s Defeat

I guess there is a bachelor in every city
and I am doomed to possess this title,
whilst waging a war within myself
as the epidemic that is romance
flows right through me, threataning
to take hold. It has been eons
since last a lady saw the parts of me
hidden beneath the buckle
that suspends these trousers
on my hips, and longer still since any woman
cared to groom my heart,
touching the palpitating emotions
brimming beneath this wrinkling frame
as age takes away this blossoming exterior
of mine. Soon I shall be as hagged
on the outside as my heart
feels on the in, and if a paramour
does not inject her sweetness
into my stream of conciousness
quite soon, I am afraid death
shall come and go,
and I will simply disappear
into a long forgotten, lonely funeral.

Whilst waiting for the Anesthetist

Waiting is the worst pain
any man can ever feel,
the abyss of total lonliness
spreading its decadence
across the horizon
of this here world.
As all that was once beautiful
is disintegrated in the shadow
of lonesome effigy,
the absence of all feeling
is consumed by painful suffering.
The walls press together,
demanding their vast quantity of flesh,
until my body is squished between
the corroded decay
of infinite demise,
and the blackened pitch
of a resentful loneliness.
I scream and I pound
but the walls consume my cries
in its impenetrable hide,
and although the invisible fortress
grants the opportunity
to view the world outside,
like a glassless window,
I remain forever unseen
by the eyes of all.
I always wanted someone,
but this I was denied,
and instead of love’s gentle touch,
I am granted the stabbing pain
of an environment
carved from depression’s soul.
Somebody take me out of here;
take me out of here I cry!
But for all the screams that escape my lungs
as the gruesome struggles erupt from within,
I am beneath the comprehension
of all who could provide assistance
from this undying drought
of isolation’s pull.
I hope for more
than what I have obtained,
but fate fails to smile
on my less than humbled location,
for if there are some
destined to have much happiness,
it is only logical
that an emotion of intense enjoyment
would be in miniscule supply
for the remainder of the populace.

The Loneliness of New Year’s Night

Bless thy loneliness o’
shackled heart on New
Year’s night, the sky
amass with exploding
candles. Is that a tear
which crawls across
my cheek in
remembrance of
another year that lies
behind the charcoal
dreams that are my
life, dancing wickedly
on the floor? Is it too
much to wish upon the
moon for the blessing
of romantic
endearment for my so
fractured soul, or is it
my ill-fated destiny to
remain scarred by a
loneliness from which
reprieve is unavailable?
Before me, a door to a
future that is as of yet
unwritten stands,
unyielding. A teardrop
of decay falls upon
the aging handle,
stained by the sweat of
former human pores
that greeted this here
object with a handshake
so satisfying that alas, it
did open unto a world
beyond the realms that
which the eyes had
never seen. But I hardly
think my future exists
within a circumstance
of sociability, and with
those final words which
stain this page, I do
presume it is to be only
my shadow and I
alone tonight on the eve
of 2014.

Unforgivable

Loneliness, will you abandon me this night
in replace for an infinitude of love
as unending as the time? Will you
give to me but a moment to have a life
with a beauty, who ought to have her
features draped across the stars for all
to see?

I proclaim that I be ready to remove
all that has halted my journey towards true
north, where the angel of my blessed dreams
waits upon a pedestal of scented roses for
my passion, which I will gladly give to her
in a chalice that has been emptied
of all the sorrow that it once contained.

A promise of love eternal and infinite
would be met with happiness at the gates
of true romance in novels written by those
who believe in endings which conclude
with the sound of wedding bells.

Instead, I sit before a pedestal which
encapsulates all of my mortal failings,
my tears salting all that I look upon
in these moments of undone despair.
Where once I thought I could find
happiness, I have discovered that I
am merely a fool, whose punishment
is that taint of disrepute which lingers
upon my skin.

I am no murderer, and I am not
responsible for the breaking of many
a young woman’s heart, but I do
solemnly swear in the courtroom of
love, that I, the writer of these here words
am guilty of asking a young maiden
to enjoy a dinner with me.

She waved her hand and could not
submit to the allure that I had thrown,
my chivalrous attempts at romance
being but a shallow pool in contrast
with the ocean of eternal magic she
wished to have bestowed upon her soul.

The answer ‘no’ would have been all that
surely did suffice, and I would have been glad
anyways, for her voice, like lavender, had
draped itself across my ears. But no, she did
not dare stop at words, for the moment
was to play itself out within the foundations
of her mind every night when she tried to
simply rest, the nightmarish imagery of
my love confusing the sanctity of her mind.

So, she shot me looks of venom, whenever
our paths did happen to cross, and I be
lucky that I am naturally immune to the
toxicity of her now rancid flavored eyes,
which were once so delicious, that no man
alive could have fought the urge to sacrifice
his very soul in exchange to look upon
such masterpieces.

I never meant the pain that now rampages
like an unrestrained fury through her mind,
but I on the other hand find utter strangeness
in what has here transpired. Could my
affections really be so horrifying? And if so,
what would need to be done to see to it
that I am eternally forgiven?

I wrote this in regards to a dilemma that I at present have. A few months ago I asked a young woman out, to no avail, for she was already in a relationship. I am uncertain of her status at the moment, but am almost certain that it may have changed. My question is; should I ask her out again? Any answer would be surely appreciated.

Thank you for reading ladies and gentleman!

The Unchosen Choice in Destiny

I was told ‘I love you’ once,
but now those days
are just an echo in my mind,
for never shall these words
of three, pass over the tongue
and through the moist lips
of another potential paramour
again. In a vain attempt
to avoid the pain that comes
with heartache, I find myself
blessed that I can become
like a robot on occasion,
and walk stiffly like a cyborg
would, rather than move
fluidly like a human,
for if I walk like the majority
of this planet’s population
society will be disgusted.
Never have I been real good
at acting like a human, and
the people I come in contact
with can effortlessly see through
my masquerade, and although
I hate the fact that after
all this trouble, I still feel the dark
emotions of a traumatised
soul flourishing through
my senses, I know not
how to conclude such a feeling.
Unlike a watch in dire need
of repair, with parts that can be
easily switched out for new
features, I cannot be mended,
and shall instead remain forever
broken indefinitely. I cannot foresee
a potential future where
I am destined to be loved
by anyone; on the contrary,
I have been witness to the potential
future, and it is of no surprise.
When the end does come,
and its fruition is unstoppable,
I’ll find myself dying
alone and afraid in the corner
of a rundown establishment,
because such is all I am deserving.
If by some miracle I was to be
reunited with romance once more,
suddenly and without expectation
I would proclaim to the woman
I have fallen for ‘you have saved
my life!’ and she would jump
several feet towards
the stratosphere, yet manage
to retain her usual glare
all the same. But love,
although been strong in feeling
is never really quite enough,
and I would believe
the sensation traveling
across my major senses
to be nothing more
than a facade, and upon reaching
this conclusion, whether
or not it carried the weight
of truthful logic, I will push
my lover away until they leave,
for my destiny will then prevail
and I shall be left alone
again, as I inevitably always will.