Atonement.

When I break, I fall like Autumn leaves the trees barren for the winter;
like a lover that has taken all it can before departing.
Beautiful to behold the spectacle right before I hit the floor, stripped bare.
All the reds reflected in my eyes, my ire overwhelming me with such arrogant anxiety.
Denied of you, the air, the oxygen that I had depended on to help me breathe,
my world becomes diseased and waits for winter's cold to numb the pain.
My blood has frozen inside me as the reaper waits restlessly through the delay caused by a deathbed made of sharp snow; such a contrast, to the softness of it when I was young and innocent still.
The pieces of me are scattered and on display for all to see and scrutinize.
I am brutally aware, for the first time, that I have spent my life waiting for a sun that refused to rise. My demise is imminent now that the seasons change;
a sobering reminder that life will always go on whether or not
I am inspired to evolve or resigned to rot.
The birds and the bees disappear as the streets become bare, a clear sign indicating the loneliness that is about to set in.
I scramble to find shelter from the abrasive cold that
relentlessly robs the lush green landscape of its clothing,
reducing it to spindly bones.
But in my haste, I have forgotten that I have no home,
as my soul sees its opportunity to leave and escapes through my blue lips,
excited to finally feel atoned.

Blood & Guts.

My high threshold for emotional pain became like anesthesia,
numbing me from the inside out as the contents of my soul had somehow developed amnesia.
I was filled with such ravenous rage that it tore my skin from my bone, like acid rain.
My heart was like a furnace overheating, desperate to silence my internal suffering that had become so scathing.
Wanting to be left alone to wallow in my maladaptive misery,
I let the ink stain my skin, just once,
in the hope that it would set me free from my artificial reality.
I was enslaved by my anger, as hostility reigned supreme inside of me, it was like cancer.
My tears were the permanent tattoos that no one could know,
my vulnerability made me feel weaker with each perceived blow to my ego.
Naive and perhaps a product of my environment
as I wrote blood and guts on my arm, in Japanese, as my eternal punishment.
It acts as a reminder now, a vigil of sorts to the hardened persona that is no more.
In his place is the lost and afraid little boy that raced towards a future that never materialized;
he cowers in fear now his only shield was revealed to be comprised of lies.
My tattoo, though macabre, is a testament to my faith in myself to always be held accountable.
It was unjust and in poor taste for me to play the victim for so long,
unwilling to accept that my own behaviour was wrong.
I now see the error that corroded me and have vowed to strive for change.
Through staring at my tattoo, I have gained the insight
and clarity that are helping me take the reins, an action that was long overdue.
Although I am still fallible, as humans are, I will not allow my demons to leave scars on my loved ones' hearts.

Flashbacks.

Chain-smoking, choking back tears from years of being broken,
I find it more difficult than ever to melt my heart that has became an expert at being frozen.
Like a bell that chimes to deaf ears, I know it is time for me to disappear,
as I feel like a guest that's not only overstayed their welcome
but also lost everyone's respect.
I have became the poster child for neglect,
now that I've made a habit of running from anything that could make me upset.
Layers of build-up have made me smile on the surface when I feel completely worthless,
like a lie, repeated enough to make it real.
We have only just begun to scratch the skin of the shipwreck that lies within.
As I descend, I see that each tier is a level into the fiery pits of Hell.
It seemed harder to conceal the tireless trauma
than to learn to cope motivated by the possibility of getting stronger.
There was no method to my madness when I lashed out at nearly everyone,
accusing anyone but me for my own sadness.
Substance abuse provided an easy escape route from my issues
that are exacerbated now from the result of being refused.
Each attempt I've made to vocalize my pain has made my throat hoarse as my words got lodged between the racing thoughts and their regime.
I need a cure, the kind that only unconditional love can provide,
but my wells have dried; my thirst so dire that I begged to die.
My fears of failing one more time have me scared for my life; I must succeed,
I cannot keep refusing every lifeline.
Each memory rushes in and I am besieged,
forced to confront every element that haunts me permanently,
whether I'm awake or in my dreams.
Afflicted when I should have been free to adopt my own sexual identity;
attacked, held hostage in disbelief, that this could also happen to me.
I blame myself for the irreparable damage caused
when I was carved like meat on different plates then swallowed by predatory mouths.
Objectified, so now I feel dehumanized and displaced because
I am unsure of how to continue without the facade.
I am not okay, nor am I just fine; I'm hurt,
irate and wish these troubles were not mine.
Sinking deeper into myself, I was shocked to find
the lost little boy that I left behind somehow still fighting to stay alive;
I was convinced he had been dead for years, replaced by this man
that I have no idea what it even means to be.
All I ever wanted was compassion, but instead I am slave to others' sympathy.

Soup.

You and I were the best team, we could've been in the major leagues.
I wanted us forever, as I know that we were destined to be together.
You were my hands when my own forgot how to feel,
the cure for my wounds that never seemed to want to heal.

My vision obscured by enemies I could not see,
as I sat cross legged and prayed for clarity in a field of broken dreams.
I didn't hear well enough to listen to your fears.
I had grown accustomed to ignoring any sense or logic.

So it's no surprise now that I've been forgotten.
The only taste I know is bitterness now, its acidity more acrid with each blow.
Falling apart without security is not reassuring,
as I am covered in doubts that keep me from blooming.

Open my mouth to speak,wanting to beg you to stay,
though I've lost the words that could keep you from slipping away.
I beg of you to give us one more chance but then
question how I could ever change the circumstances.

Separated now, my ego is to blame for dousing our love with
gasoline then watching idly as it was swallowed by flames.
We were both important but became imprisoned by all the things we never said;
the silence became the norm as we were devoured by the underlying sense of dread.

Darkened by our union, we lost it all in a few haunting nights.
The days that followed only revealed that nothing could make us right.
All our desires burned and became ashes from the wildfires that we started but never put out.
Passion stripped away, left me naked and afraid,

I didn't know the words that could somehow convince you to stay.
Now I stand alone, surrounded by fog that has replaced your presence.
Without a good defense, I am reduced to tears as I mourn your loss alone.
It's awfully cold without your arms around me; you were the soup that warmed my soul.