abyssia

writing
i know i need to be writing
but the words
fucking words....
too many, too few
and these damnable tears in my eyes
mongoloid mer
heh, so attractive
what is there to say about death?
it happens
it is supposed to happen
and what about love doubted?
that happens too
this is the way of it.
don't know about you
i don't usually intend to cause pain
but i do
i'll keep doing it
even when i die
to bind two souls as one
when there is no bedroom fun?
ridiculous!
but the rest... near perfection
and this looming death
whatever will i wear?
i'll dig up something black, somewhere....
will i have to speak?
she was sweet, good with plants and dogs?
annoyingly bucolic?
never would dress for an event.
shall we bury her in a sweatshirt?
-she was the heart of your family-
-you are the breathing dead-
yes, that's it.
and how i long to feel
to see longing in another's eyes
to feel it true and urgent
is this more?
or simple lust burning between my thighs
i need to know
i need your help, whomever you are
look deep and deeper still
i only fear what i cannot bear
does the fear speak the truth
or give it a place to hide?
well, at least now my eyes are dry