Dutchess of Detroit

There’s anger
Yes
And hurt
So much
And at times I think
I’ll lose my mind
For losing twice again.
Victory unheard disappears
From inside
And I feel the hollow
Like an old familiar friend.
This is as all should be
You in love and me in second place
This would be so much easier
If I didn’t want you
So much.
Leaving
Would be possible
If I didn’t love you
Too much.

Tortura

Words I’ve said
Echo back
Followed by a whisper
Of everything you ever said.
Y me duele tonto
But what to do
They live in my mind
Haunt in a perfect torture.
I laugh at myself
When it’s quiet
I’ll never need cocaine
Your love is more than enough to kill me
Metaphorically of course.

Don't Take Me Seriously

So you’ll die
Silent and alone
So you say
Oh love
Why do you do this
What’s the motivation
To follow
In such dismal steps.
Ours is not a lonely world
Filled by far
Too full
With too much
Of inconsequence
When you drink
At night, alone
Do you think I don’t know?
You’ll die
Silent and alone
But only if you want.
Voluntary silence
From chosen solitude.
Die
Silent and alone
For pushing me away



- I don't like the ending. it sounds too menacing, but "because" doesn't sound good to me.

Blogsurfing

What is it that defines cruelty? Or more importantly what is it that defines one human’s capacity to be cruel? Where is the breaking point where one man can look at another and say, “I am going to break you. And you will not stop me.” I’ve always wondered at such. Most often I wonder if the latent cruelty I sense in others is merely like calling to like. I don’t think of myself as evil, but I must recognize that devil in my ear. This particular devil is brilliant. It knows how to act, and gives me subtle direction. It tells me how to smile and when to blink to bring someone to their knees. In this voice the weaknesses of others are revealed and mocked; the knowledge of how to catch them is seen clearly. I feel no joy in this. Rather it is a fount of power that seems to sit and stir in the bottom of my belly, as my efforts fall to fruition my veins fill with lead and I am rocked by the power of another’s destruction. Then I halt, and try to see myself as I am. What right have I to bend another’s will? I am no god, nor am I smarter than the rest. So why do I see these lines of weakness, and heed the call to make the others subservient? It’s not that I desire the attention, or want them as my own, but something in me revels in the capturing of hearts. I can’t bring myself to say a harsh word to a friend, but faced with love I find a murderous power welling and all I can think is, “you have no idea.”