Trading Sleep to See You

I've lived a hundred lifetimes in the time we spend apart,
Thinking over the experiences and what I should convey,
But when, at last, I'm in your arms- I delete the files and press restart,

I muse each day on what to tell you I've seen coming in your chart,
Or the injuries and spiders that cause me to howl and bray,
I've lived a hundred lifetimes in the time we spend apart,

Weekly caught up into something new; some philosophy or work of art,
And for the swiftest of ephemeral moments--it seems that all will be okay,
But when, at last, I'm in your arms- I delete the files and press restart,

It's not from trying not to tell you; one can't miss the mark without the dart,
I just like to freeze up when I see you--and I love to hear about your day,
I've lived a hundred lifetimes in the time we spend apart,

New and fresh experiences that I thrive on, new takes on bitter-acrid-pungent-tart,
A black and white scenario where my perspective brings up gray,
But when, at last, I'm in your arms- I delete the files and press restart,

I must seem pathetic for only showing week-to-week my broken heart,
With a laughable libido I try to keep from making me a lousy lay,
I've lived a hundred lifetimes in the time we spend apart,
But when, at last, I'm in your arms- I delete the files and press restart

Congested sinuses hiding the rot,
The body breaks down in a place he forgot,
Aerogel,
A wicked smell,
That erodes a living, breathing man- who consumes by drips this draught,

Admittedly ashamed that things won't seem to turn around,
Looking backward at the past when love and promise were abound,
Oblivion,
Would be a sin,
So the memories linger like a faded abstract whose full text will never be found,

Dreaming of a day without this shoulder ache,
That drives me toward a spinal break,
The cruel distractor,
My work's detractor,
Compensating for this strong dissociation where I sleep when I'm awake

I already know I'm no longer the ten,
One at the top of his game, one of those coveted men,

Men who the world bends over backwards to please,
Trapped in my slightest smile or in a harmless tease,

If you're out to pull me from rose-colored visions,
To remind me of reality's distraught conditions,

Just remember that I've known this truth through the ages,
And it isn't your place to remind the captive of cages,

Don't scrape the plaster or paper of the layers of paint,
They cover the burns of a martyr and saint,

The stigmata bleeding is to evoke a remembrance,
That you won't ever worship me in the smallest of semblance,

And if within my eyes you cannot find your God,
I could always cut them out; replace them with a better-suited mod

In Remembrance of Who He Was

I get asked what I've been doing to correct this situation,
As if I've been idle and coasted through some respite or vacation,
As if I haven't had to live through stopping short of every expectation,

Nothing in life prepared me for the chance I'd lose my mind,
There was illness in my family but nothing of this kind,

Had I known I'd have planned things out in dreadful anticipation.

Science has shown that memories are encoded while we sleep,
That short-term turns to long-term for the things we need to keep,
And what's left is then discarded- ceased from being left to steep,

But for me there's some malfunction and though I sleep and often dream,
The memories stay suspended- colloidal like butterfat in cream,

And I'm left searching for contextual clues amongst the spoiled heap.

Have you ever needed post-it notes to remind you who you are?
Then compared them with how you used to be- that potential rising star?
Trying to perform the skills you've learned feels like pulling them from tar?

I get up each morning to another thing I can no longer seem to do,
Crippled, crawling on the earth with only memories of when I flew,

Self-doubt instills in you this deep belief that you should have never come this far.

If you think that's the worst part you haven't thought through this disease,
A funny thing begins to happen when your memories are no-longer trusted keys,
Insidious it starts to change from that pressure and unease,

It starts to feel like everything and everyone are just a dream,
Too nerve-damaged to pinch yourself; you seek to find and tear the seam,

Try to guess if what you heard was real or did acute sense hide hallucinatory tease?

Grieving while I'm still aware of missing parts of what was once a gestalt whole,
Mourning bleak disconnection from the ancient spirit in my soul,
In vain attempting to collect the contents spilling from this broken bowl,

And I'm admittedly guilty of collecting friends who also longed to die,
Gorged on range of their emotions when I was only capable of aloof detachment and a pseubulbar cry,

Collecting their experiences- what an ostentatious goal!

If I caused this all to happen, yes, then I admit regretting what I've done,
I'd admit the price does not measure up for those scattered bits of fun,
And I blame myself more than the excuse of natal positions of the planets around the sun,

Blame myself before I blame abuse by a father who himself had never seemed to heal,
Blame myself before the lover who broke my heart so deep I'd learn the hard way just how low mankind can feel,

Believing mistakes were all part of my destiny, spinning stories to justify the act of being spun.

Someday it will not matter because I'll lose awareness of this addled brain,
Whatever part of me that lingers here will be ignorant of no-longer being sane,
Perhaps that gesture shows the Holy Ghost is at least somewhat humane?

If any of you know me when that happens; consider this informed consent,
End this weary incarnation and hasten the time in sorrow spent,

Return me to the stuff of stars, release me from the pain.

Forever a team player- I will work to help the team,
With fervor I will give all myself if it will manifest the dream,
Not seeking to build up the way for someone who won't take part,
Bitch beware of adding pressure lest your skin be burned with steam,

I am well aware I need to balance my head and soul and heart,
So I'm out here doing groundwork that you never seem to start,
And for someone with no initative to propose to me a plan,
You better get off of that god damn high horse and help to haul this fucking cart

We all know there's no "I" in team or you'd give it all you can,
The way you give your cheap-ass bangs a shot to frame that square jaw of a man,
We can work this out together or you can get out of my space,
Where there's smoke there will be fire don't be the dumb whore with a pan

I'm prepared to help with anything you think that could hasten up the pace, 
But if you seek to just give orders you better get out of my fucking face,
I will bury you in red tape till no one can hear you scream,
If my first impression didn't work, let's try the one you can't erase.

Damntrak

Asking too much given the little I bring to the table,
Advantage taken from your powerful presence held to try and feel somewhat stable,
Used the usual charms,
To remain in your arms,
Unrelenting unease for unfairly selecting your soul to be the savior in this fable,

Sure to drive you o'er the edge with my hopeless consternation,
Pathetic woe for sorry souls and the lack of our salvation,
Drank the warmth out of your smile,
Removing mysteries behind my style,
Till the only time I'm good for is killing time left at the station,

Hope you realize I may not grow to be more together or methodic,
Though it's not as if I expect of you to be more erratic or quixotic,
My fear is that I will not quell,
All your urges 'fore the dirge's knell,
Though at least we know using this shell is something you find erotic.

The beautiful butterfly born from you broke my bitter boyish heart

I cringed at the crimson chrysalis you created by crying each crystal clandestine tear

The ones that seared my sinner's skin like iron spokes that set the sigils on the steer

Awake, agape, awash with anguish at the agonizing thought that we soon would be apart

Your future form, fervent and fearsome, is also fickle and flighty too,

I wish I could crawl with that crazed creative caterpillar that could consume carafes of caffeine

Her idiosyncratic impulses invigorated the insecurity of eyes insane and blue

I wonder does she still wish from willing wanderlust- the way she did as a wayward teen?

Lactic Acid Improving Taste but Rotting My Muscles

To avoid the inconvenience lock me in that heart-shaped box,
Give it time to mellow out the flavor of the acid in the must,
It's far too caustic now to deal with,
Allow it to settle in the dark and the dust,

I won't be pushed out until I'm more complacent
Age is bound to spoil me- I'm not some brine or pickle,
And for the countless jabs thrown at my nature,
I'm not nearly as immature and fickle,

Drop the call if that's what you need,
But I'd caution that cycle you've deemed antiquated,
It's encased in these moments where you're feeling unheard,
Would I have gained that much more insight in that one second waited?

Solomon

When armageddon finally calls and returns this world to dawn,
When these carnal forms are ripped down to electrons from the bombs,
When there isn't quite an "us" to sense- those sentiments are gone,
We'll be, at once, at peace again etched in scriptures and in psalms

I can hardly finish anything when I feel so crudely finished

Brushes my arms-
he searches my neck for the kill switch
Strikes my head inside an iron bell-
to snuff me out quite like a candle
Shrouds me like he drapes an aviary-
like how peasants bind a witch
Pauses to look me in the eye-
sits me high upon a shelf until I'm something he can handle

The dust wears me down-
Settles in hair each time a lover puts me here to sit in stasis
In terror I sit-
as the spiders crawl out and their webs anchor me to this place
My resolve keeps me content-
The thought of being together means I'll grit and bear and face this
As time takes all that is left-
As it wears down my features and leaves lines on my face

Ambrosia

Blood
Is a primordial fluid
Incarnate forms and their rudimentary systems
Carrying hemocyanin and hæmolymph
To the tissues of cells not yet ready to receive
The ambrosia
The memory of time
Tasting of iron
This human blood
Even if poisoned
Or dialyzed
Or addled with drugs

It is the only thing in this form I have known longer than the quarter century I have spent here

Long before everything,
before the warmth of an anxious womb
a waning moon cast forth
On the storm of the century
Of which I was a harbinger
This red liquid filled with memories of cells set to kill
Is the very same fluid that God-fearing men once referred to as Ichor

Imagine if the deserts of the world existed,
To only those who believed in the concept of sand,
Now imagine the power that could come from your conscious,
Reality would submit to your will and command,

It's a crazy sort of magic designed to take the pain from the folly of Man,
Imagine if one could manifest the fixed beliefs that form delusion?
And use those powers to paint the facts in gorgeous shades of roses,
Marked as wicked and deceitful for crafting beautiful illusion

And I'll I search for in the journey is my Virgil- a hell's companion,
Someone to save me from the rampant throes of isolation,
As I make peace with this carnal form and my utter disappointment,
Because they cannot understand the will of God and the spark of their creation

Peroxide Poltergeist

That part of you that feels quite sick
When you're lonely and awake, and the world has gone to sleep
Is the part of you that still feels shame
For living the lifestyle of the sheep

Who can blame you for that form
The one you appropriately chose based on the scratches on your heart
That cry out for Endymion
The shepherd that saw your Titan form without a name, a clue, a chart

Admittedly I still take pride in seeing who you are
Because even you have separated from the skin that tastes of stars and chance
I wish you'd long just a little harder
Maybe then you'd see the aching girl still craves that midnight moonlight dance

Virgil

If you really want to know a man
If you want to know him well
You have to hold onto his hand
And ferry him through hell.

Not even a metaphor

There are webs and swaths of spiders living in my precious things,
From furniture to photo albums; they don't discriminate,
The irony of this cosmic joke is the kind of pain it brings,

A fuzzy one upon a lamp may be large amongst the kings,
But he is a mere marble against the female's fearsome weight,
There are webs and swaths of spiders living in my precious things,

They evoke a sensory response- I swat my arms until it stings,
I would not in a million years have ever guessed this was my fate,
The irony of this cosmic joke is the kind of pain it brings,

Writhing on the undersides and skittering over strings,
And worst off are the things in boxes, they've infested every crate,
There are webs and swaths of spiders living in my precious things,

I found them in the jewelry box when I found my missing rings,
Their egg sacks cling to everything as they feed and and grow and mate,
The irony of this cosmic joke is the kind of pain it brings,

I cringe as they scurry toward my hands, as each one jumps and flings,
Their infestation evidence that my sentimental heart's the bait,
There are webs and swaths of spiders living in my precious things,
The irony of this cosmic joke is the kind of pain it brings

I had an awful lot of trouble explaining just what I felt in my shoulder and my spine,
This is easily the worst it's ever hurt and I'm trying not to consign,
Choking back tears till they feel like bees that sting a tongue chelating in brine,
I'm fighting back this fucking urge to rip my teeth out till the roots drip like crimson vine,
Can you see why then, when it reached my neck, why I was rendered speechless? Without a line?

Pink Cloud

The second, third, or fourth time that I hit the old pink cloud,
I stopped myself from feeling dread and simply laughed aloud,
Knowing full well I should be ashamed; I couldn't help but to feel proud,
And I may not have boasted to everyone but I sure did amongst that crowd,

Because there comes a point, a place in time, where I'm just glad to have survived,
To have caused as little damage and maybe in some ways thrived,
I'm not some hopeless, hapless sap needing constantly revived,
I watched my head in shallow waters every time I dived,

I won't defend a way of living that I wouldn't recommend,
I can't begin to tell you of the things in life it brings screeching to an end,
It costs a pretty penny too, one you probably shouldn't spend,
And eventually taking all that risk demands that something to either hell or heaven send

I'm only gonna say this once- so it get it through your head,
There's not a thing I wouldn't do to block the voices of the dead,
Not a spell or sin I would omit to charm you back to bed,
Because every second without distraction is one I'm overwhelmed with dread

But the stressors are what drives me to speak and act this way,
I use their presence just to justify what's done to get me through the day,
And to show I might have purpose still- despite the fact I'm gay,
Despite the innumerable messages that tell me not to stay,

There's still substantial bits of me that believe this all can stop,
That since I wasn't always like this I might still halt this drop,
If I'm lucky I'd feel just a bit of my old yearning for the top,
Become the man they all want me to be- initiate some cosmic swap,

But fighting hard against these bits are the bits who want to drown,
Who yearn to ache and bleed all over every memory of this town,
The part of me who justifies anything to not feel down,
A withered crooked clandestine creature with a ring of smoke his crown,

To me the part I struggle with is I can't seem to confront,
The people close who look at me and see only what they want,
Their facetious feign of ignorance like poachers claiming not to hunt,
Saying nothing, merely praying I won't pull another stunt

Mutable Signs

There comes these points in space and time where something has to happen,
When God calls on the ones like me to make the bonds unfasten,

The solvent to dissolve the glue- to undo the firm adhesion,
While mankind screams in agony as we expose each wound and lesion,

Without this form of torture you would never get to grow,
You'd never get to germinate the seeds you seek to sow,
To cultivate the garden that can tell you what you want to know,
First you have to thaw the frost- you have to melt away the snow,

No decision that was difficult was ever made in comfort's space,
You have to make them burn or bleed and long for some other place,
A sharp and crooked knife threatens to scar  their pretty face,
Evoking fondness of the time before the moths came in and chewed away the lace,

Don't think I'm saying there's not value in the fixed and cardinal ways,
They establish the order needed to carry out the passing days,

Oh, misunderstood and mutable, accused of chaos bringing doom,
Will any of you realize Cosmos is who builds your resting tomb?

Fair Weather

When you live in a world with such few limitations,
Hearing any excuse is a waste of your patience,

It leads you to wonder how much time that they've wasted,
Looking for some common ground to feel their deeds reciprocated,

But I've never found trouble with any endeavor,
My friendship never turned fickle for inclement weather,

Through perilous journeys I've always commuted,
For business or pleasure- neither duty refuted,

That small car has made it on journeys over an hour,
I guess a sense of work ethic equates to some hidden power

Perhaps that difference is why I get paid in six numbers,
In the time that excuses leaves them aging in slumbers

The Weekend

Anxious
Lonely
Swimming through this dismay
Tired
Aching
I'd settle for just knowing a bit about your day
Wishing
Somber
I hope I haven't worked some silent nerve
Wayward
Bleeding
Have you come to see I'm less than you deserve?

Visitation

Hunter
at a loss
when I saw you
this new form of yours'
you knew to distract me
to keep me from questioning
and what an extraordinary gift it was!
to bask in your presence
just spending time
with my friend
thank you
Hunter

I was here before here was here- before they instilled so much regime,
A time when Angels bedded women,
Before Deluge made silent every scream,
And I carry with me all the pain,
Of the ground that houses all the dead,
I carry on despite this fact, despite knowing it's in vain,
I try to make this world the place of beauty in my head,
The world around me mocks my foolishness,
While I pretend that I don't care,
Even if all the world was hopeless,
I'd still remind them God is there
My name embodies philosophy, Who is Like God?, Mîkhā'ēl
Who knows existence as this greatness but stays trapped in carnal shell?
And for this ardous task I seek out comfort in a mate,
Someone to hold some of the despair that I gather as my fate

Fat Salmon

Something rather remarkable- the way the candles frame his face,
They map the lines just right,
Embossed by night,
As I glower under neon signs I can't help but feeling out of place,

Something in his simple view of things that seems so profound yet not complex,
Leaving me each time to ponder
Heart growing ever-fonder,
A man willing to sustain my need for agony if I sustain his need for sex,

Something that one seldom sees on any person but a child,
His delighted smile,
Makes me pause awhile,
In his nature something Cherubim makes the Seraph in me wild,

Something about that genuine sweetness that makes you swear off saccharine,
His virtues never waver,
Not for theif nor traitor,
I think it's compassion, I see, remarkably, in the candle's dreamy din.

I knew the you inside of you
And what it symbolized in me
The pure, unbridled selfishness
The conquest to be free
And even when you screwed me over
And even after you had died
After there was nothing left between us
Bitter burning tears for you I cried
It took a therapist to call me out, for
Making your painful death a beautiful fate
To remind me that you aren't some symbol
A static Marley's ghost shrieking "stop this...wait!"
Hunter, I've simply got to stop this pattern
This chasing after you and blame
This punishment of mind and body
This deep delusion that was our game
It's time for me to try out living
But maybe not with all I've got
Maybe extremes seemed right when love had left us
Two broken kids the world forgot.

Jericho gave way at last, but it would only last so long,
The pleasure in an ephemeral moment of a life without duress,
A nullifying stupor; soporific warble in a song,
A place where I could still amount to something but not surmount the stress 

And moons and ghosts and visions tricked me- serving to validate my claim,
Stifling my manic fervor and teasing me with open doors,
Awakening stifled intuitive gifts to show me that their waste is such a shame,
Blowing wind in my sails for a perilous journey but stocking nary a scrap in my stores,

You made your mistake in revealing your motive,
For it's the same now as it was way back then,
To show that I've given all there is to give,
That my life is over in this life led by men,

But I'm willing to conjecture- evidenced by your persistence,
That you hadn't thought to factor in my love of carnal vice,
That maybe I might stay alive out of spite and stark resistance,
Awash in mortal treats of sex and jewels and dreams and cash and ice

Bucky

I needed the chance to see him tonight
I was counting on the chance encounter where we could finally talk this out
There's so much I need to say to him
I wasn't well-braced for this clout

I needed the chance to see him tonight
I figured his shade was already en route
That this force I've felt since the eclipse
Was a bite of the strangled fruit

I needed the chance to see him tonight
I spent the money and I lost out on sleep
There was a decision I was planning on making soon after,
It seems Endymion can't hold onto his sheep

I needed the chance to see him tonight
I don't want your secrets that coat me like slime
The medium must've been rather scared of you,
But someone somewhere will give us our time

Psychic

Saline and 8 balls make a sickening slurry
Madras and lime leaves make too-sweet a curry,
2 hours sleep makes makes me hustle and hurry
Pure anhedonia makes everything blurry

Deep Tissue

The stomach-turning cacophony of bone grinding on bone,
Reminding every mortal man that his time spent here will end,
And should he use this time unwisely it will end with him alone,

It's clear to me this constant pain is a sign of sins I must atone,
Despite the fact there there is nothing I wouldn't do or wouldn't lend,
The stomach-turning cacophony of bone grinding on bone,

I'm not sure how to comprehend the cease of quiet with a moan,
If we've got feeding and fucking covered- is there time for me to mend?
And should he use this time unwisely it will end with him alone,

Stipulated silence is not something I can condone,
To that effect I'd rather hear each tangential trend,
The stomach-turning cacophony of bone grinding on bone,

I reserve my right to act as youth- though the world made me a crone,
I choose to take face value in the messages you send,
And should he use this time unwisely it will end with him alone,

Perhaps this labile way of acting is something to bemoan,
But I can feel these cracking bones and someday they will not bend,
The stomach-turning cacophony of bone grinding on bone,
And should he use this time unwisely it will end with him alone,