Quixotic Rebirth

You open the door; I am instantly engaged.
Hiding behind my formalities, artificial as they may seem,
I fondle for my comfort zone,
A safe haven I can use as a crutch
As I wander into uncharted emotional territory.

Even your hair drives me into the madness of a passing fancy.
Short, black, clean, comforting.
So pungent, juxtaposed against your soft white skin,
A contrast that screams purity and new beginnings.
[Am I a born-again lover?]
The sincerity in your smile accentuates the kind sadness in your eyes.
Your boyish charm seems only to
Reflect the maturity of your identity.

To me, you are simply
So beautiful.

the other side

It is the other side that I am afraid of.
The side that makes the street lights blur
Until my eyes are so wet and squinty
That the whole world is melting before me.
The side that drives me to run to my sanctuary
Slam the door and collapse to the ground
Whimpering, as my body falls a slave to my emotions.
The side that begs me to open up when for so long
I have kept myself so subtly isolated,
Comforted only by the mystery that accompanied my loneliness.

But this way seems to lead to an insatiable thirst
The comfort only drives me to cry out more
And immediately after the pinnacle, my moment of cathartic glory
I feel foolish and, once again, alone.

This is the side that makes me question myself
Who I am
What I am

The tunnel vision builds
And it feels like the world is collapsing around me
And I am to be forever lost in the rubble of existence
Forever trapped beneath destruction
Brought forth by none other
Than myself.

A Token for the Artist and the Martyr

Can anything remain profound once shared?
Due to the nature of things, it seems
That with every passing of something sacred to another
(Even another bearer of intellectual mercy)
A piece of its profundity is ebbed away
And its grandeur diminished.
Even at the shores of its glory,
The beautiful alter where a silent genius becomes
A self-righteous dullard, the ignition of its impact
(And the impact of its ignition)
Are lost in translation.
Transparency, transcendence, and transgression—
All in one resplendent paradox of unity.
O, the desperately cathartic, yet painful lament,
Of the outsider.