Those Eyes

I am home though a part of me is missing
that part of me that could stand
the dismal selfishness of contrite beings
It is like nails along a chalkboard now
Whatever it takes to make it cease
I shall without thought
do it
The silence is indeed golden
The solitude precious
I am not the same
nor will I ever be
Do you not see my precious
how much more
I grow like you
In the end
you will hate me
for all that you hate of yourself
and then I will simply smile again
For it will be passion
the same passion that has been like talons on a chalkboard
screeching deafening piercingly fierce
as fierce as that which I have felt
when I am within your veins
It is my blood that makes your pulse
~hers 2006

more to come ...