Perpetual dark rain masks the tears of my unending pain; there is no distinction when tears fall in a storm. Incessant sorrow is the numbness of my soul. I used to crave warmth, but I have adapted to bitter cold. I am shattered over and over again; the dams of my eyes fill with the tears of my heart. I am silent and still in my weeping before the bellowing of my anguish starts. I seek understanding no more, nor do I reach for love in its purest form. Life will be what it will be. I am a castaway, shipwrecked on unmerciful seas. I did not know that I was so deeply wounded until I saw my own blood on the leaves. The tightness of the chest and shortness of breath feels like slow imminent death. There is no fucking redemption in constant torment. If hell is my portion then in hell I will walk. I do not give a fuck about societal norms or their prejudice thoughts. The decadence of their sentiments have bloated them — they are greedy pigs with foul breath at the trough. The weight of their iniquities have crush their knees; on their bellies they crawl. Still, in unending storms tears fall. To protect myself from further pain, around my heart I build an impenetrable wall. In the dystopia of my soul I am stranded, left desolate. The beauty of past intimacy seems like a lifetime away. After early morning sensuality, from work, she would call to tell me that she was still throbbing, further inciting my intimate passion. Regretfully, I never showed her the sorrowful depths of me, afraid to show the vastness of my pain. Sorrow is now synonymous with my name — my unseen tears washed away by dark eternal rain.
I cry, not because of regret or the woman that left, but I shed tears for love itself, for it never had a chance to grow because the soil of its young roots became infertile — dying in its infancy, it withered slowly and painfully, and though I nurtured love as a mother cradling her newborn baby, I could not save it — so I gave love one last kiss in its place of final rest and wept over my loss for weeks until the tears could flow no more from listlessness, insensibility and lack of sleep.
I sought understanding, but I found none. I sought love with many tears, but it came with conditions. I craved the healing depths of affection, but rejection was my portion. I tried to hide the sorrow in my eyes, but my attempts were futile. My existence has consisted of tribulations and many trials. I have walked in the depths of that valley were death shadowed me constantly without mercy. I have unknowingly sat in the company of those who have tried to hurt me. The blood that runs within me is that of a vindictive family. I have seen the ugliness of internal strife all of my life. I have been called upon by people that I love to choose sides. In dark quiet rooms I have incessantly cried. I lost a part of myself when my mother died. I have not exceptionally achieved, though I’ve tried. I have not distinguished myself in my own critical eyes. What is most invaluable to me is peace of mind. I breathe, but still I feel buried alive. I see, but I stumble constantly as if I am blind. I eat, but I am never satisfied. I sleep, but I’m still doggedly tired. The ecstasy of intimacy is one of the few things that makes me feel alive. I seek warmth to prevent myself from becoming utterly cold inside. I seek an ethereal transcendence, but maybe it will come in time.
In my sorrow, do not ridicule me. Do not seek to question my heart’s sincerity. Do tears not run in mourning? Do I not keep her nestled in the depths of my soul for safe keeping? Am I not desolate in my grieving? Do my own tears not drown me from incessant weeping? Did I not kiss her face tenderly while she was sleeping? The glory of her beauty haunts me unmercifully — and to think love was within my grasp. Eyes behold my countenance as a whole man, because daily I wear the mask; but truthfully, I am deeply wounded and shattered like glass. I seek to be whole again, but every hour I am violently torn asunder again and again, and I am shattered like glass.
Slowly, I inhale her and exhale with a transcendent euphoria. Around me, things fall apart. Days of yesteryear weigh heavily on the frayed threads of my psyche. Slivers of solace are found in every intense release. My mouth waters to please her; the essence of her on my tongue is something that I’ll always remember. A woman fully steeped in her femininity is a polished diamond in exquisite rarity. Her moans of pleasure are the sounds of a wonderful orchestra performing on the bank of a wondrously flowing river. Her kisses quiet the grumbling of my lament. Her breasts envelope me, and I am lost in the depths of sensuality. She rides me. She fucks me — and it takes away the pain. Her unbridled sexuality is my therapy. She switches to reverse cowgirl and looks back at me. Deep pain and eroticism come together and form a beautiful intensity unexplained. Passion heightens; tears stream as sorrow is drawn out of me. Again, positions are switched, and she wraps her legs around me in missionary. Without breaking eye contact, we kiss passionately as she wipes the tears from my eyes. I must give her all that is me — I cannot lie. Eroticism and sorrow are strange bedfellows. I turn her around; she moans with ecstasy. Her face supported by soft white pillows. Again, she looks back at me. Again, I take another dose of her potent therapy. Every euphoric breath that she breathes is my reprieve. Gloss pink peeps through the holes of black heels. I kiss the side of her neck wildly and breathe in the scent of light sprays of Channel N° 5. I exhale the pain with rolling tears and closed eyes. We release together, finding the climax of our pleasure, and I am truly alive. We release together, on our sides; her head turned towards me and her leg draped over mine.
She was a seedling that grew into a beautiful flower;
Born in December, she amazingly bloomed in the winter.
Her petals are bruised because she’s been hurt many times before,
But now she is lovingly watered — and under healing sunlight,
Rich and nurturing soil her long strong roots explore.
With vitriol, some call her whore — but their
Taunts trouble her beautiful and wondrous soul no more.
Radiantly, she towers over them with protective thorns on her stem;
They could never dare to even attempt to hold her ever again.
Beautiful rain falls on her delicate petals, and she is gorgeous.
They revile her publicly, but secretly they are jealous;
They boil in their anger because they could never have her.
Her glory is heavenly — radiantly, she blooms endlessly.
Black roses grow in the space of my heart that was left hollow;
They are rooted in the rich soil of shattered love
And showered daily with a perpetual drizzle of sorrow.
Still, I search for lost parts of my heart that many lovers kept;
But I didn’t know I was so deeply wounded until I was near death
When true love left, and in darkness I sorely wept.
If we should fall, tell the world of our exploits,
the pain in our hearts, and how for so long we survived the dark nights.
Tell them of what we’ve endured here,
the tears, the weeping, for so many years.
Tell them that we’ve loved and have been loved,
but by the third season our hearts were shattered
and the remnants of our loving hearts, scattered.
Tell them of the injustice we have endured here, and of our martyrs.
Tell them of the blood that runs every summer
and the crying voices that hope to conquer;
Tell them of the beauty of our mothers
and the quiet strength of our fathers.
Tell them that we weep and suffer,
but somehow we still survive the coldest winters.
Tell them that twelve judge us with prejudice,
and the color of our skin condemns us.
Tell them of apathetic eyes that watch us with hatred and bias
and the system set up to destroy us.
Tell them of our ancestors who came over on ships
to be enslaved for generations—
In tears, raped, separated and whipped.
Tell them that, at our breaking point we didn’t give a shit,
and we were not afraid of death in our final moments.
Tell them that their bullshit sentiments are meaningless
and they walk around as empty husks, soulless.
Tell them that we gave it everything we had,
and faced our fates with tears of resolve—and boldness.
The shattered pieces of me remain behind and unswept,
Still strewn on the floor where my eyes first wept.
I awake, still broken, wanting to be whole again,
Hoping that my soul will finally mend.
The sorrow of my heart seems to never end.
I keep falling — but not in love again;
I just keep falling,