I want you to be free from me

Slumber is the only thing that helps
ease the pain, dilute my fears
into a fantasy I can see; my lips
could touch those tender hips.

I don't want to give anything to anyone
any longer; but I try to go on
with my master plan, this pain
just takes me by surprise, by the hand
on days I feel better than
I ever have before, better this evening.

My heart beats hard in my chest
when I see your photographs
I can barely breathe, the hurt
inside is just too much for me.

Take a picture of our memories
by writing a picture perfect frame-
an epilogue of our could of been's.
I guess it just doesn't matter
'cos despite my best intentions to cure
our flawed past, our tormented history
there will be no reunion for our
badly, chewed up desperation for
once- it tasted tough and sour.

So I'll go on with my days,
progress from the angst felt youth
I knew; because I'll become
a man, a man who doesn't tire
from the games girls play.

Once my jaded heart has found a touch
of soft love it can begin to start
a new, return to the bright
star it once was; before I burnt
it away- threw it into a churnned
pile of ashes, polluted my talents.

All those drugs that coursed through me
now sing echoes in my subconscious dreams-
telling me they want to fade, erase
from truth to fiction- to never
see the day light again, to ease
me into a life I could enjoy with out her.

This bottle of rye may as well be water;
'cos at the rate I drown my sorrows
it's as if I'm an olympic athlete.
These desires aren't the norm, so I hear
from the rumours that run the scene I knew,
once upon a time, like the back of my hand, before
it turned into something like a chore.

From friend to foe; lover to traitor-
it's just too much to bare.
So I stripped my soul down to the bone
in hopes I can still start a new.
Love isn't the thing I imagine I'll see
in my life but at least one day
I can look myself in the eyes, in a mirror
I'll smile at the vampire
that appears back, smiling at me.

I can't find a way to explain to the masses
it doesn't matter much to me if this
is what I am meant to be; a mess
of a man- something you distest;
fore all I have known is impure distaste.
The secret to my growing impatience
is the disdain that evolved inside, rapidly
deterating all I've known to be true.