It would not surprise me in the solitude reflection of your imperfections
the fear you choose to move you, the fear that has broken you like a
misshaped boomerang trying to do things over again. I cannot reflect
and long for you again, I have been in hell myself, I have walked away
yet I am still walking in the same hell every day but I do not shame you.
Your fear is not with me, it is a significant heart break of not all that is
love. All suffering, all scars, all emotions, all sickness, all happiness,
all obsolete years, the most indestructible bones of our being have softly
trembled by all that we have amused our emotions with. And if you ask
me without a regret I have loved you as sure as the light in the sky. I have
no reason for this madding naked death but it has lured me once again in
all that it is luminous to portray in the depths of your eyes. Paradise would
be the library of your soul where I would trap myself in there to read forever,
but perhaps never will be my loneliness, my darkness, the fallible birth of
joy, the hunger that the soul has to offer its escape of such beings who have
not yet had measured time to sleep away their pain. Well then I might say as
I have loved you, I have painfully, deeply, destructively ripped the seed of that
embryo from my body and threw it into the pastel gold stream of the sea.
Where I swear I have seen your eyes crawl to devour me.
“She had written the best love poems of her life.
As she was torn to pieces and driven by madness.”