Penance

You are cut deep
yet you fight with bravery.
You feel tormented, yet
you lust annihilation.
Love is war, it is
deprived of reason.

Dementia wreaks havoc
and your name erases from my memory
like a fire extinguished,
when the wick has run its course.

The flame of lust,
takes the shape of an eye,
burning beyond the bluest wax
that cannot spark lust
without the void
where memories are cast away.

Delusions sabotage gestations 
and the child quietly sleeps.
Dementia reigns.
Where art thou?
These walls you're building around you...
brick by brick,
like an assault of bone on bone,
with my skull, I tear them down,
till war horns ring through corridors of deja vu
and my temple bloody,  
because your home has body and soul.
Afflicted from behind the veil of deceit,
my wingless dead soul can not heal.
Where is peace
when the residue of the torment
surface over me, and
the child quietly sleeps?

Meditations on detachment
turn love to ash,
slow down time.
Bury me.
Burn me.
Sink me.
Push me off a mountain,
just so I might find my final act of penance.

A tormented snail
sailing across the universe,
yet to catch on with deceit.
Is there another life beyond these gates of hell?
Is this sinister journey into a different realm
a transcendence of its living emptiness?
Does the void deep within us both
stare at the chaos in each other's lives?
Meditations on the logic of a dream,
like cocaine, dilate your pupils,
like the memory of your bruised body,
rush into my lungs,
like oceans rush
into the lungs
of the sinking man.
The child sleeps
yet hears these hymns I hum in penance.

Let these monologues
of affliction
mirror the gestation,
embrace,
never let me go.