all too often, i view this world
with the passions of a lover.
how do some sit by and see reality
without being consumed by it?
prick the arteries of the poet
and he shall bleed
attempt to cauterize his soul
and he will only learn to hate instead.

i pursue the sinners while sympathizing with them.
i consume them while seeing my reflection
entangled within their lifeblood.
the assassin of the innocents and
i forget myself as i stalk them.
to slit their throats, i slit my heart
and allow myself to bleed out with them.

how do others hold the candle
without being burned by the flame?
how do others love without
being consumed by the experience
of passion met with purpose met with promise.
somewhere in the midst of
screaming out amidst the scourge of feeling
everything
            at every time
                       for every one
i wonder what it is like
to feel nothing at all.

there are those more dull and those more able
to walk amongst the pyres of hell
without being licked by the fires
bent on their destruction.

but i am one of those prophets
who dances with the visions in his head
being destroyed a hundred times over
by each and every visceral sensation
while waiting for the day when senses jaded
and cynicism overwhelming
overshadow the heart that has not learned
how to finally cease beating
after all these years.