Caring is not as simple as it seems.
It is not always smiling and laughing;
It is not cutting up with colleagues
Or the people you see day in and day out.
What it really means to care
Is to stand firm when those you claim to love
Have fallen to their lowest point
And can no longer stand.

From the bottom of my heart
I thought you would have understood that,
But as I stand with a noose around my neck,
Searching for a single reason not to jump,
You look past me, around me,
As if I am nonexistent in your realm of supremacy;
And whether I sew my mouth shut
Or scream supplications while staring you in the eye,
You remain stoic, silent,
Never bothering to grace me with a word of comfort
Or even your presence, to remind me you’re there.

In short, I can no longer believe you
When you tell me you care.




Here we sit across the void,
Two specters
Watching each other clandestinely,
Never speaking, never touching,
Just hoping the other will slip first:
I, the vacillating spirit,
Who weaves in and out of your consciousness—
At one moment the center of your attention,
And the next nonexistent in your realm;
You, the mute celestial,
Punishing me more with your silent presence
Than a thousand rejections ever could
Until my psyche ruptures in your palm.
Living in darkness is so much worse
Once you’ve glimpsed the effulgent light,
And every second absent your acknowledgement
Feels like an eternity under a starless sky;
But just as you’re at the forefront of my mind,
I know I am in the back of yours,
Lurking, as much a torturer as my love extends,
And with every step closer, I believe,
I only force you to suffer more.
It’s a spiteful parody we have succumbed to
That neither of us can escape from,
And so we sit,
Two specters,
Pretending the other doesn’t exist.


Sunrise clouds

The best part of the day is the instant I wake up;
It’s the part of the day where I’m overwhelmed
By the beauty of your empyreal existence.
Like a balloon being filled with helium,
Emotion swells my heart until it bursts,
And I know everything in the world will be all right
Because the love I possess for you is nonpareil.
I could never attempt to fathom this inextirpable emotion,
And it’s so potent I wonder how long I can wield it
Before it spirals out of control
And I lose my mind in this blissful euphoria.
Nothing stands in measure against this force:
Not the darkness of the world
Or the depression that rendered me a slave decade-long,
And certainly not the trivialities of the everyday
That bog down those with nothing to live for.
You see, I have found that purpose, that spark,
And it has ignited into a wildfire that drives me,
Reminding me I have the strength to face the world,
And that my entire life has not been squandered
Because this surreal and ethereal gift has resurrected my soul.

All of this happens in a snapshot of time,
And it almost drives me to tears every morning,
But after that split second, reality strikes,
And I remember this love falls into a void,
Unrequited, ignored,
And suddenly facing the world becomes a Sisyphean task.

This Miserable Wake

Crystal Eyes

I thought it was I
Who would scathe you
With hostility.
How mistaken I was,
Now that I see the calumny
Behind those crystal eyes;
But it was I who put the blade
To the throat of our illusion
And laid it to rest with an admission
That should have remained unconfessed.
Now we stare at this cadaver
Born from my mistakes
And realize that resurrections are make-believe—
No burial, no last rite
For this unceremonious suicide;
But worst of all:
No forgiveness in your visage
As you look past me at every turn,
For the sacrilege I have committed
Has lain waste to any semblance of peace
That may have existed between us.
Give me the word, love,
And I will ebb from your life,
Taking with me all the guilt,
All the blame,
All the suffering I have left in this miserable wake.

Wounding an Angel

Bleeding angel

This is what happens
When anger collides with compassion:
An eddy of rage
Coalesces with a river
Formed from dissonant tears
To compose emotions obfuscate and cacophonous;
In the end, I’m left paralyzed,
Dubious of which step will be my last,
Praying to a god both deaf and mute
That it will be the next.
Try as I might,
I have no one else to blame this purgatory on;
I alone shoulder the responsibility of this suffering
That has extended beyond myself,
Infecting angels I once deemed untouchable;
I can no longer face those crestfallen eyes,
Knowing what carnage I have wrought
In the pursuit of my own desires—
But I am a selfish creature
Baseless, with no regard for others,
As long as my own thirst is quenched.
The price of this gambit
Is paid in an angel’s blood
And not my own,
And for that I weep and apologize,
Screaming contritions that will never be heard,
Aware that no penance will ever reap reconciliation.
Unable to bear the weight of my sins,
And too impuissant to face the devastation they have rendered,
I turn away from the angels—
My only means of salvation—
And give myself up to hell,
Because it’s all I deserve.
Because I’m a coward.

Emotional Paralysis


I am a wasteland at heart,
Deadened by the tumult
I could never arbitrate.
My mind lies in the dust
Of this emotional paralysis,
Never progressing, never moving,
Strapping me to a memory
That’s better left forgotten.
My psyche’s been devastated
By this apocalypse you’ve waged,
Laying waste to all the color
That once painted this canvas,
Muddying what’s left into a cesspool
Of mellifluous virulence
Comprised of all the beauty
That had once flourished in my soul.
It’s not as painful as it sounds
Because, like the earth once scorched,
No trace of pain lingers;
There is nothing left.
The land is dead and oblivious,
No longer able to support life
And good for nothing.

Ten Years Dead

Headlights silhouette

Ten years dead
Under these fluorescent lights,
As sterile as my breathing,
Waking to the numbing cold
Of a decade in stasis:
No movement,
No interaction;
Just an abyss to while away the years—
The dream I had always wanted.

But the end didn’t come so easily,
And even though I chose
A bottle and a pair of headlights
Over confronting you and confessing all,
Fate was not inclined to acquiesce;
So here I lay, hearing the news
That everything I thought was true—
My entire perception—
Is a fragment of a past long gone.

Ten years dead,
But now I have awakened,
And with them all the passions
I feel for you, as strong as they were
Ten years past;
But you, I’m told, have moved on,
Nothing more than a footnote in my life,
With passions for someone else.
And now, when at once I thought
All that was there for me
Was a bottle and a pair headlights,
That is all that is left now,
Because I chose to squander
The ethereal beauty
That had once lain before my eyes.

The Truth Behind the Chaos we Inhabit

Rose mirror

This virulence has issued forth
Unchecked, untempered,
Without regard to the wounds it has gouged
In the depths of your beautiful soul;
For this slander—
Blaspheming your sacred name
And shackling your mind to even more remorse—
I should never be allowed
To grace your presence again.

Never was it my intention
To afflict you with guilt,
But it’s so much easier
To wallow in this selfish pity
Than to face the truth:
Love is a much harder emotion to swallow
Than this despotic rage I have driven myself to
In my effort to cope,
Because I don’t know how to process
The blessings you’ve drowned me in.

The truth is you’re a light in my darkness,
Revealing beauty where I assumed there was none,
And everything you are—
Is nothing short of mesmerizing.
Though I may howl my displeasures
Into the ether of abstraction,
In truth my suffering is my own fault—
No one else’s—
And were my life worth giving at all,
I’d offer every remaining second to you,
And would never once look back.

Immovable Objects


You’ve pushed me to the fringe of sanity,
Where I grasp desperately at the precipice
In hopes that you’ll reach out your hand—
Exuding inappropriate grace—
And pull me to safety.
I have no expectations, rest assured,
As, like me, you remain motionless
While the tide within rises,
Drowning your reason and eroding your strength;
And I, too self-absorbed
To answer your ear-shattering pleas,
Remain just as stoic, watching this tragedy play out.

Frozen in time, we are two monoliths,
Statues standing as a monument to failure,
Beacons of insecurity and repression,
Each one hoping the sun will crack the other.
Until such time—
The end of time, I’m convinced—
We’ll continue to convince ourselves
Of this prodigious idea:
Staring at one another as silence devours us
Until, on that blissful day, inertia slays us,
And we can repeat the cycle in death.



Art by NeilBlade

I am your soldier—
Your guardian—
Sworn to protect,
And loyal until the end.
On this battlefield
I brandish my sword in your defense,
To save you from the pain
That threatens to invade your psyche
And the torment
That would drag your soul to hell.
For you I fight, kill, and die,
Knowing full well I must shield you
From my own love above all,
Because the onus I bear
I cannot burden you with;
So when you are secure at last,
I retire to the fields of Elysium,
Or the halls of Valhalla,
Or even heaven above,
But the real reward is still your affections,
In my death, now given to another.