Guide my hands oh Lord, and renew my resolve.
Strengthen me in my hour of truth,
and increase my courage to see the mission through.
The men in my care, hear their cries, and see their tears.
Restore their health quickly, so they can gird up themselves
and carry on in battle valiantly.
If they should face death, welcome them into your rest
where they will dwell in peace eternally.
Shield me from the attacks of the enemy,
and keep my hands steady.
Calm my heart in the face of the storm
so I can fulfill my duties and triage correctly.
Allow these men to find solitude in their pain;
take their thoughts away from the severity of their injuries.
Focus their thoughts on the beauty of the women they love,
and bring back fond memories of their families.
In their hour of agony, provide them an escape.
Heavenly Father, for the light of your love we wait.
In the hell of warfare, for your angels we await.
Impassioned Elucidations
Created in divinity, she is much more than beauty
but the embodiment of a mystical mystery that the eyes can’t see.
To touch her essence, you must love her unconditionally.
To reach her depths, you must draw out her whispers of long held secrecy.
There must be an ethereal intimacy that bonds the souls together;
In sincerity, you must whisper sweet words to her heart to find her treasure.
In her, there is a transcendent quietness that brings peace
and a supreme love that break the chains of inhibition that causes release.
She is immersed in divinity, from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet.
The warmth of her love, causes joyous tears and peaceful sleep.
In passionate kisses, the taste of her lips are sweet;
The strands of her hair, are like celestial waterfalls where angels meet.
After It’s Gone
When love is no more, the viciousness of words
is the the weapon that cuts to the core;
all that is left are melancholic whispers, and thoughts of regret.
Years of unhappiness is a slow death,
culminating in the gasping of air in final breaths—
from deep wounds, the soul is disfigured,
and the heart relinquishes passionate feelings in its relent.
There are no goodbye kisses or last intimate experiences;
after the last screams, hatred rises to the surface,
and tears are shed in stagnant silence.
The door closes, and the first night of loneliness
brings more melancholia and darkness.
In an empty dwelling, after it finally sets in,
reality is cruel in its starkness.
Medical Examiner’s Journal
9:36 PM, New York City.
Coldness has gripped my heart. I have become exceedingly numb to the bodies that lie before me, even the young. I have grown accustomed to the taste of metal that lingers on my tongue. In the beginning I contemplated my own mortality, but now I only contemplate an increase in my salary. I must say, the long hours have taken a toll on me; REM sleep is difficult to attain lately. The last poor soul I examined was burned badly and didn’t have any surviving family. I used to be highly religious, but recently, I have been exploring the concepts of agnosticism and atheism more and more. Life hasn’t been the same, since Sarah walked out of the door; divorce lawyers are expensive. Maybe, it was for the best that we had two failed pregnancies, as I assume this divorce process could have gotten much more ugly. I’ve come to the realization that marriage is not for me; strangely, with everything we’ve been through in court, I still love her and genuinely want her to be happy. I hope she meets a great guy and can finally start a family. We were both in medical school when we met; I thought we would be together forever, but I guess that didn’t work out, whatever. The district attorney has been on my ass about the promptness of my reports, but fuck her. She, and her office are on my fucking time; the bodies keep coming in, and are stacked high. I’m not going to perform half-assed autopsies for the sake of time; these are still human beings and deserve respect and dignity, but more importantly, accuracy. On most days, Bach’s genius gets me through the long hours. Most of my colleagues are good people, but this particular guy, Kevin, is an asshole; most of the guys named Kevin I’ve come across are pricks. I am an absolute professional in this office, and my work can stand against any independent examination. Can’t say the same for “Kev.” I guess that’s why I’m the Chief Medical Examiner — and he is not. I’m proud of myself for being disciplined enough to cut back on cigarettes. Recently, I’ve tried menthols, but they’re absolutely disgusting; vaping is completely out of the question. I haven’t had sex since Sarah left, but it is companionship that I miss the most — or maybe not. The coffee here is bullshit, so I bring in the good stuff for myself and a few others. I’ve been receiving constant calls from my mother, regarding my divorce; she wants me to work things out with Sarah. There’s nothing left to work out, so I think not. As much as I love my mother, she needs to learn to stay out of my personal affairs. I saw how she emotionally clobbered my father to a pulp. He died as the result of a massive heart attack. I’m considering signing up on one those so called “dating” sites; the word “dating” is used loosely these days. I was walking in the city and had some random woman approach me with the offer of “services.” I replied with, What services are you specifically referring to? After she answered, I politely declined. I’ll give myself sixty days to find someone on whatever dating site I decide to go with. I’m not in the business of wasting my money. I’d like to find someone at least somewhat sane; no unreasonable expectations either. Eleven years of, honey do this and honey do that, was enough for a lifetime. After a while, the constant demands became a fucking nightmare, as if I already didn’t have enough on my plate dealing with my profession. I was responsible, faithful, maintained a roof over our heads in a nice neighborhood, maintained excellent credit, engaged in intimacy with her regularly (not just a five minute pounding, but actual intimacy with foreplay), and tried to show sincere interest in the things she enjoyed. I think that’s a pretty good goddamn track record; I told myself that’s it, I’m not doing anything else. Working here can be a drain on your mental health, so I guess the insensibility serves some purpose. One week of time off coming up next week. Looking forward to it.
Sensual eyes gaze upon what is desired;
Seductively, she awaits.
Hold On
Before the pain, she laughed beautifully and wrote her name,
and after it came, it brought lifelessness and dark rain;
but she was never told that she was not to blame,
so when she cried, she was ashamed — and sorrow,
consternation, and anger boiled in her veins.
Though she may pass feigned smiles, if you look into her eyes,
it is there that great pain lies—
draining her joy and her essence through a forced disguise.
But there is a quiet strength that fuels the fire of hope,
and in that hope she survives, pushing back against fear and its lies;
tears constantly fall, and somehow in a desolate place, she manages to smile.
Her tears are dried and looking through gorgeous eyes,
she will abide and make it through the night.
In Their Waiting
They were born men
With aspirations of reaching heaven
But learned to transcend
And became gods in the interim.
Points of Pleasure
Erotic reflexes drive pleasure to the edge, allowing the sensual essence to flow uninhibited. Long held thoughts are revealed in lascivious whispers, heightening the senses — leading to waves of unexpected releases; the longing of temptation is vigorously fulfilled, and the desires of the heart overflow and spill. Predilection takes over and is passionately pursued with prurient wanting; pleasure is found in both giving and receiving. Concupiscent utterances and primal screaming is not deceiving — erogenous zones cannot lie. Before more euphoric waves arrive, there are amatory whispers and a locking of the eyes. In those moments, the reticent disguise is uncovered and forever set aside; unlimited pleasure demands its subjects to fall away from foolish pride. In the giving of themselves, the dead parts of their repressed want come alive. Memories of alluring positions and seductive temptations linger in the blue fire of the mind. Intimate scenarios are replayed again and again over time. Impatiently, naughty fingers touch all the points of pleasure they can find, until next time.
The Tormented
Anguished screams narrate the bowels of hell in all its depths.
Perpetual falling of dark rain washes away the blood after the opening of veins.
Lost in desolation, if they escape death, when they come back — they are never the same.
The bloodstream craves euphoria to numb unceasing pain,
but after the sun rises, sorrow still remains.
They fall to their knees and weep in sincere praying, but sorrow still remains.
Please take away the pain. They cry earnestly, please take away the pain.
But there is no change — they wail before the sun rises, but there is no change.
They want the world to know their names.
They so desperately want the world to know their names;
and feel the warmth of the sun again.
They want to feel the embrace of the warmth of the sun again.
Agony seems to never end.
The torment seems to never end.
After the Ecstasy
Listlessly they lie, like inanimate objects
unmoved as the dust collects.
Insomniac eyes could never hide the dark circles
of suffering from lack of rest.
After the last deep inhale,
there are no more remnants of euphoria left.
When there is a stagnant silence after heavy breaths,
there is no more ecstasy left.
It can be bought, but agony stalks
after it wears off.
The scars of its heavy price can sometimes be seen
between the webs of the toes and on angular arms.
