Why do you want me?

Careless, careless carelessness… I drift my

worries into whirlpools, drained at the

final breadth of Light as

Night conquers in stealth.

How can I resist it? the quivering thrill to Fall,

into the ravine of my bed — temptation calls,

wrapped in bedsheet cocoons as

I dream without slumber; for I feel

freer in chains of steel than

when my hands are bonded in prayer.

Whenever I Fall (from Your purity), I smile in

a twisted glee. You open Your doors when my

thoughts are coldest, yet I shiver outside,

afraid of Your warmth.

My love is crippled, Lord. Why do you want me?

I torture Your heart with my hands,

and blind my eyes whenever I wish

to float in darkness, alone… in

vain non-existence, void of any

boundaries and walls but Death.

I flee to a place of dollars and

gems, kingdoms of dust that could

disappear like castles of sand.

I ask this again, Lord: why do you want me?

Still, I remain entranced by Despair,

entrenched with fatigue, choking — gasping

— for just enough air.

I cough out letters violently, spattering paper like

blood spilt in tragic rage.

I remain in fear of internal death, without motion

and beyond all repairs; it is

in the silent hours of consciousness, I awake

to a cataclysmic fear: that all things

will crumble with my delusions in-hand;

and as the day and night ends, so will I.