Elegy Zero

( Had a bloody knife in my hand
Saw my heart stare back
As the stabber from the mirror.
Deceived by luck-kissed fate,
Happiness wears a mask that stabs us all. )

Touch not,
Look into,
Dream a lot,
Hopes cold,
Reach out,
Forbidden, yet
Ever wanted,
It is only

With dimming stars above, I can only
Count how many suns will shine on me,
Count how many times the rain will pour on me;

The sin of my sleepless nights, tell me,
Are these the dreams that will bring you to me?
Are these the nights where I will forget?

The violence in all my silent sighs,
The caress of all my unspoken desires.
Will I ever be reborn in your arms,
In your words, in your heart, in your eyes?

All the tears of my silent screams,
They flood up to my unhinged mind,
Drowned my soul with our forbidden dreams.

Will a single moment ever freeze time,
Within the embrace of our longing,
The dreams of my restless nights, tell me,
Will a single kiss ever set us free?

Through you, for me,
Endlessly, it is nothing but
Fire at the end with me.

And my heart can only count
How many suns rose on me,
How many rains cried with me.



We are slaves to the shadows of words unspoken.

Slaves to the call of the darker half.

Slaves to the ends of the words spoken, promises unkept, lies told and retold.

We are all slaves to the artifices of our minds, to the whims of our hearts, to the call of our lusts.

We are all slaves for the sake of a false sense security, a falser sense of loyalty, an endless cycle of preservation. A slave of the duality, of the defining battle where two halves of a soul clash, aware of each other, spiteful of one and other, unable to find the better half – all seeking the same sense, false sense of security in the numbing arms of familiarity’s comfort.

I am a slave to the duality of my soul. Shards of I clash there with other shards of I, never truly accepting they belong together like random pieces of a puzzle. All different shapes and colors, swirling in a maelstrom of… everything. An everything I must face, still as a slave to the duality of my soul.

I am a slave to the limits of my own creation, of life’s imposition, and of my heart’s whim. I am a feral beast in man’s shape, a snake of the honeyed tongue, a berserker in the civilized suit, I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I am fury dammed by the world. I dream of setting it on fire, I want to watch it all burn down, I want to see the rivers of blood I spilled, by my hand, by my whim. Yet I am content in my comfort, compassionate in my smile, a gentleman in my word, honest in my heart, wanting more for the world. I want to watch it all grow into happiness, delight, and peace.

I am a slave to myself, never understanding who the master is, always clashing, an iron fist in a velvet glove, a frail child in an iron beast.