I was never yours,
And you were never mine.
Why, then, does it feel
Like I’ve lost something wonderful?
From every angle of this pentagram
We never intersected,
Never touched,
But I could swear to any god
I knew you, I felt you, I breathed you.
I carve scars into my flesh
And then cry tears into them,
Making little rivers to gaze upon
And capture my reflection,
Because I have none to cleanse myself in
To sweep me away in their currents,
Or erode the dirt from my skin;
But these rivers are filled with blood
And flood over from this deluge
I pour into them.
In the end, I am horrid and wounded,
Just the way, I think, you always saw me,
Never looking past the flesh
To see any strength within
Or any redemption behind my ghastly face.
So I make these rivers to overflow
Until, one day, they drown me,
And maybe erode the dirt at the surface
To bare what’s left of my soul beneath.


The Sins We Cannot Forgive


Art by Tab109

In spite of the pomp and confidence
You exude every waking moment,
Your silence is baffling;
Nary a sound slips from your tongue,
At least not in my presence,
Because your words are reserved
For the debased and debauched
Who would only drag your soul
To the depths of a hell you think you crave.
When once we were soldiers,
Commanding nothing but our private legion—
Because we needed nothing or no one else—
You personified nobility,
And not a person who laid eyes upon you
Could ever deny it;
But your eyes lay not on me any longer,
And whether it’s because of your sin or guilt,
You cannot bear to look me in mine,
Perhaps for fear you will expose your shame
Even as you feign contentment.
But I’ve seen into your soul, friend,
And no reassurance or prose
Will convince me of your state;
You are damned, shackled to a fate
That you have only yourself to blame for,
And though God may forgive all sins,
We are not in heaven and I am not God.

Personal Atlas

Atlas silhouette

I am your personal Atlas,
Holding up your entire world,
The weight of your burdens,
The onus that drives you to tears
And sends you reaching for escape;
But never do I mind,
Because I cherish this world
You have thrust upon me,
Entrusted to me to protect
And keep moving every second.

Am I your personal Atlas?
I feel you pulling away,
Slipping from my grip,
Soon to roll away from this—
Your anchor—
Onto the back of another,
Or perhaps in your own orbit,
Free and unsupported
While I outlive my purpose
And stare in awe.

I am still your personal Atlas,
Lifting you up as you fall again,
Weighed down by your world’s pollution;
The inhabitants of your lands
Have ripped you apart, desecrated you,
But still I am here to hold you up,
Never crushing you myself,
Never using this position as leverage
To take possession of your beauty
Or hold you down from your potential.

I was your personal Atlas,
But I am he no longer,
Replaced by another,
Or perhaps substituted for open space.
You circle your own source of light,
Rotating from light to darkness,
But in both states, breathtaking;
In the shadow of Tartarus I watch,
As you drift, guided by the pull of your light,
No longer requiring my support, my anchor.

Eulogy for a Friendship, Once Believed Unbreakable

Alone desert

Attempting to retain your friendship
Is akin to wading through a desert
Searching for an oasis
Long ago burned away,
Cast into oblivion by the scorching sun:
There is no reward in it,
Not even a mote of salvation or redemption
To be found wherever resolve
Used to dictate you in the most beautiful manner.
You have ceased to be what you were;
A shell wearing a mask of your face
Breathes, talks, and carries out your actions,
But I have stared into those eyes
And, like a desert, they are barren,
Influenced by the materials of this world.
It is with spine-tingling horror
That I have realized it is all gone:
The affection that turned to sorrow
Has now drifted from desperation
To sheer apathy—so close to bliss—
And as much as I try to cling
To wraiths of a past I abhorred,
I can only admit in earnest
That I have outgrown you,
Moved beyond you,
And I am fairly certain
This is the last thing I will ever write about you.



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.

Innocence Perish

Awakened to this horror story:
A tragedy only conceivable in my nightmares.
Gripping at nothing for a hold on sanity,
Because nothing is all I’m left with.

My jowls break from these wails of agony;
I cry drops of blood into a basin of sorrow,
Reflecting this shell, void of life.

This death sentence I’m now consigned to
Ruptures the mountain of peace I once stood upon.
I fall into the darkest abyss, supplicating to a deaf God,
Wondering if the fall will ever end.

Your consolations are mockeries,
For this wound can never mend—
You can never understand.
For as naïve as you are, can you not realize,
Nothing else matters anymore?