To Robert Baldwin Rose in Appreciation in Affection...

To Robert Baldwin Rose in appreciation in affection...




"Friends,"
Romans,
"Lend me your ears."

Gather 'round.
I want everyone to see this.


This skin,
attatched to this arm,
attatched to this hand,
that has finger painted in the style
of crime scenes,
held in mind with
the afterthought of
form, the history of
image...

I play the part well...
I only recently began acting.

Maybe its the taste
this lipstick water gives
(Death)
that makes me act like this...

Why do I entertain the thoughts of
failure, hopelessness, and shadows?

Why do I question?

Why,
with your sovereignty,
do I find the strength in my limbs to,
over the course of
19
years,
find a gun,
load it,
press it to my
peripheral
(perception. what a joke.)
and flirt with the trigger

like a drunk with a virgin?

Why do I care?

Why am I here,
alive in this bed,
at this second,
with a front row seat to
the rest of my life?

My life=
The longest death scene
the business has ever seen.

Why do I question?

And seriously,
what's the point?
You know.
Of guilt?

What is the point of guilt
when it can be so easily
overcome by the prospect of
murdering again?

Why are You with me
but not my vision?

How can You hold me,
but not my hands?

How can You acquit me,
when my heart is the
incriminating evidence?



Incompatibility is the name of this game.

Love does not equal nature.
Grace does not equal earned.
Faith does not equal logic.

How can You speak
to me
when I am doing all
of the talking?




This was the sound of my heart attempting suicide.