Choice.

I can't shake the

feeling that you're inside,

with me, hiding inside me,

I know the day I'm going to die; an

angel sent me, told me, showed me.

Now I know the when and where but

the how's still hidden, left to me

to choose, unless this angel's message

was just a devil's ruse. But if the

choice is mine then years I have -

some time - to chance discovery of

what my death should be. The angel

came in flame - on a cloud.

eyes

I can't watch them

without being watched back

and I can't take them

so now I don't look at all.

Beautiful minds break the words...

Waking worlds

breaking worlds

walking into the darkness

of our own being

only seeing what's been invisible

thus far

and there's no way

barred for us to take.

I wanted to remake this

into a truth that's been

missing for me

since I was young,

strung up by the falsehoods of

contradictory nature

versus

nurture

loving

versus

murder.

(Maybe they're the same inside,

if you don't deny the inner dearth of lies.)