Every day a new blank page.
Writing could comfort me,
if only I could focus and ignore
these damnable vultures,
preying and waiting...
chipping away at my decaying brain.
For the taste of love
because they consumed their own.
Hate is not in my emotional vocabulary
His own blood, however...
sneaks up and envelops me.
I need my fear
I need my love...
yet,if I run,I may slip and fall
into this shallow acid pool and lose my will
to be patient with life
that mocks me by stretching
half of my being to the other side
of this forsaken celestial sphere.

I feel the urge to break,corrode,sabotage
each string and attachment.
To channel this tsunami of emotion
towards stuck up,blinded fools
that think they have too much time.