Deep Down

Life is a silent cry;
An inner score of womb and tomb...
A shallow experience
That runs chasms deep
Into a solitary place..

I am pulled at by the fake hand that sways my hair-
not really there.
Not there,
Rather far away...
And gone.

Like me...
When life gets this way:
Flat, lifeless..
Unsatisfying...
Gorging up on needs dampened..
Hopes shown fantasy...
What is love? And why is its maturity so painful to oblige?
And what's more...
In the midst of so much desperation...
Who am I?
Longing and hopeful...
Who am I?

Loathing underneath...
The sweet trail of God's gift
Soaked in others' empathic sin...
And of course, as well..
My own.

Life is a default of something faulty.
Frail.
Lost.
And cast in all Mya...
Seeing hardly ever so clearly...
Hardly atall...
Even us Angels that fall.
Hardly ever at all...
Seeing so clearly.

I see the outsiders go after me.
It is a manhunt
Against our own and greatest kind...
Meanwhile deep underneath..
We're all dying..

Me...
I longed to be touched...
And know that I am loved.
Longed to be honored..
And seen for all...

I..
Am locked up..
My world in my mind and painting sonnets and journals
In the untouched places of my soul...
Where only I dwell, no force to know
What's here, deep down.