tips run on skin,

his song -
for my troubled child,
a soft sedation to hands in tremble -
and the sheets we dream on /in flagrante/
to the widest eyes.
softest of his burns
awake me.
i am an ache to his mutable charm. 

the words 
of his offering heave up
my throat in delight. chain me to 
logic, i'm yours to work to 
clocks' strike, until midnight and 
afternoon is bright, 

that body was built to 
weigh down on mine, each syllable offered 
i play on my tongue down his
chest 
and up the spine. 

lay me down to 
the dark in your infatuation, your hands to 
the marks on my skin speak 
vigorous.
your laughter echoes on the walls, 
sweat to wine
and i taste 
fever. the bitter of grapes and 
sugar canes from those lips
to fill me.

full, i take the gardens you grow 
for me, to ease my flaws
and
all.

don't you worry,

there are two ways this can all play itself out. 1. either i am in line for the biggest emotional draining since 2009. or 2. i am in a eerie comfortable place that has numbed me to the point of comedy. and from this comes healing.

hilariously, this is maddening. and i have no patience to sit around and wait for results. yet - i have to. of course. they say first it's calm, then it gets louder, and your emotional strength is tested by raging oceans of past guilt, regret, and heartbreak. i think my body, mind, heart, and mouth is exhausted from its own voice. i've mourned long enough and i've thrown temper tantrums the size of my ego. i do hope my calm has finally come. 
but tomorrow will tell me for certain.

This is depressing. This is me.

Hope has given me nothing but disappointment. It has led me nowhere and given me nothing but misery. Hope has given me the impression things will get better. That perhaps tomorrow will be a new day, things will somehow change.

But it never does. It's always the same feeling, the same battle, the war is never won & I am running low on ammo. I keep torturing myself with hope.

Sometimes I think it would be easier to just end it. People talk of heaven and hell. I'll tell you what hell is. Hell is this. Hell is life. It is being a prisoner inside your own mind. It is the feeling of wanting to be free, knowing you can never achieve that freedom. That is hell. At least, this is my hell. Peace comes later. Peace comes after it's all done. Heaven comes when you finally let go.