Justified defender

Always uncertain, lulled by the sense of apologetic adjusting.
Words percolate in my mouth.
Hissing and firing unreasons in my mind.
Benign to you.
Inflammatory to me.
My sensibilities caught once more in a straightjacket.
Why do I struggle to speak what’s inside.
When I know you’ll love me still.
These thoughts, born still from being transcendental.
Cared and caring of your own thin skin.
But with your over-functioning and unrelenting.
I risk receiving hands washed clean and silence.
Placing you pedestalled, I swallow once more these contusions.
For fear of reprisal.
Of objectivity.
Of abandonment.

Maddening loop

When the clothes of life don’t fit us right.
All the world hums in a headache grey.
I wish for it all to fade away.
To drown in the peace of a miracle.
Or to sleep in the air of reframe.
But life is wanton, and but an ocean of torment.
And pain is the reservoir that keeps refilling.
Washing over me, again and again

Black box

The block box held a human heart.
Clothed in bone and skin.
And within, through poked out holes.
It watched the world come and go.
Locked away for their own safety.
Hidden from sight to save the pain.
For love had ruined him time and again.
Threatening and early grave.
It hides a world you would not want.
Nor a state you would ever wish to be.
The eyes, maddened, would bore a hole.
The heart, saddened, choked off from love.
Source of its life.
The black box sits in the corner.
The insides slowly rotting.
But the mind, never forgotting.
The one that put him there to begin with.
And the one who would join him there in the end.