The Cauldron

I am hot, with fire, craving,
for soft hands, tracing my tilting in.

Cracks seep, and yeah, don't bother, that's just me.
Shell. Shadow. Something.
Traces of Something,

once there.

Blood streams, like tears; have you ever noticed?
They do a dance together,
the water, when hits, Crimson Red.

I miss a man, like death,
a love, like life,

and a life, like love.

There are things simply just given up on;
mostly but not souly.

Nothing in me, strikes to breathe, but
the mere nature that is left,
as I am.

I am,
wild, beastly, savagely becoming untame, and undone,
and undone,
and wound up,
turned over,
all over again; streaming with blood,
and searching again, for what it means,
to dream.

"dream", is almost a word i don't recognize at present;
like somehow the concept was wiped from me, and is only another life's memory.
A pre-Amnesia.

I have been stripped of my dignity
and my clothes,
left there holding them naked
like the embarrassment of loving someone so deeply,
yet, espeonage from a get-go of false pretenses
and manipulating purposes,
leaves only faul things left
from a poisoned garden.

MY heart is a land now,
gone bare, grey..
dark,
and darker...
hurting,
sinking,
falling, failing....
regression,
taking over,
dwelling in a place now,
more of cold lands, all together,
and a very dimming light.

But don't worry.
That's just me.
"I'm fine".

I don't know "fine", anymore, than I used to,
and even that, is no grand comparison.

They wiped the floor with me.
I don't know where she went...
but madness, is a slow cooking in a pot...

And I was done so long ago.
to think...
one single act of LOVE could have prevented it...

just one passerbyer..
willing to turn off the boil.