Ardor

We might be sometimes terrible at life

but goddamn do we know how to live

We love so hard it sometimes kills us

Fuck how it thrills us

Wants for the lust

to weigh on the cusp of fringe hate

For love in its time is unknown

but realized just enough

When the silent fear disappears 

in the explosions of our chosen reality it is not an accident

Your life means nothing now other than in might prevent

another's from being quit

Another story to tell by those who brew in the shit

But we only tell amongst ourselves, or among our bottles

Which is why we are so hard to be loved.

And why we can find it so hard to love ourselves

We hurt others like it’s our job, earning our fog with necessity imbued

Can't stereotype ourselves, that's for others to do

The minority fold that just happens to be you, too

Rich and poor, but mostly bored

Lost yet optimistic, afraid and egotistic

Someday, someone might remember that, goddamn, we were fucking kids together

And then remind us that heroes are real, they just won't ever admit it

because everyone is more heroic than the facade that they attempt to conceal

Where the hate fades at the ends of our todays

perpetually delayed at the expense of a peace that's impossible to display

Owing to the reality of evil and lending to the credence of fear

We tell our stories to those who merely pretend that they might want to hear

because here is mostly too hard for us to bear

We just want to fucking go back there

Where decisions are so difficult that they are simple

and the persons that you so care about just so happen to also be people

Goddammit, we are not [pause] a fucking byline

We're the you that chose our life

a different one, agreed

Contractually obliged to learn how to love in a real way

And for that we gave up something

Or for that we just gave up

But not before we've given everything

because anything less leads to death

But through death we might finally live

in so much as ours is a life to give

Important in that moment we hope for our peace

Through the assistance or our happy suicides

at the hands of our chosen enemies

And, you know what? That's okay

because who the fuck are we to say

that we'd want to love in any other way

Our trials are yours, they're just different

But, though we're the same,

we've earned our differences

You can give them to us if you will

but we accept them in spite of the real

And through our stories we're sure to tell

that love exists in the promise

of our demonstrated zeal

Just promise me that you'll listen

Enmity

Severity of self,
postured not as depreciation,
is capable to so account
Where the sum chooses, therein,
to outweigh the whole
And the conservator of answers
finds no questions in chivalrous perquisition

Aflame!
Fearing not the burn,
but the consequent char;
Endemic of the apparent wanton
completion of requisite ruination
Alas, but for
sanguine semblance withheld

Statuesque as moonlight
dutifully illuminates the perhaps
assuming Nape which requires that
its awe be but only observed
Finding leave to allow the opportunity
in furtherance to the supposed dream
Found: Feigned

Where surmounting evidence fails
to preclude presumption;
Assume indifference to constitute fact
Perhaps entitled by excuse
of habituality
to accept such fate as
observation dictates

Contented to believe
that the anxiety of uncertainty
is forgone
Rationalized for want to maybe finally describe the self
Inhibited, at once, by disconsolate acceptance
Turned not away, but off,
for want of spuriously deserved respite

The essence of temporary beatitude
dare purport not finality,
but eschewed entropy
For those who say but differently
accept not only acquiescence,
but perhaps, still yet,
choose to live