MikeThieves

I am the want. I am the need.
there is a culmination of the failure of all these in which i feed
as you wither away before my eyes, the dust of your past perfumes the breath i gasp
I am the reward.

I am the failure.

seeking not which is mine, but the posessions of the unknown, the non-existent

the intersection of possibility and reality

a pinnacle triumph

drawn out: the ultimatum

This/treasure/is/past

This/future

Is our history

with predatory glow, commence the onslaught.

Your demons must perish, perceptions

must fall

from grace

through/chaos/amidst/struggle

the juxtaposition of two different pieces,

random components

put/together/within/this/puzzle

this/past/is/treasure

You/are/the/reward

stitching unkempt, an unraveling timeline on and on

the endless thread

weaving, connecting

a vague lens known as perspective

a shrouded interpretation veiled underneath

a sky of torrential stereotypes

opinionated clouds of scrutiny,

a society which plagues opportunities for happiness

with the deadliest of questioning

accompanied by flaw-seeking filth

this/history/is/our/future

I/am/the/failure

The thread meets needle within this framework

a developing relationship

only survivors miraculously unharmed

when two worlds collide

sew me to the veins which pump the heart

I so crave to syncopate in rhythm with mine

let breathe the lungs which power your breath

for in them, lies, the perfume of your exhale

I so longingly seek

I only find you in this sleep

this madness, deep into which I sink

for a gasp which lies intangible

only breathable

the hoping I grasp which seems impossible

much like the thread that connects

this machine to the needle

on which rise and fall lay at ends

equal in this war through time

every Alpha

Lies, with its Omega

every heart bursts, few may be stitched anew

fewer so, onward they continue

every lover

Lies, with itself

Lies, with one another

of this Alpha and Omega births Xibalba

on which the ouroboros chokes

purging pride, attempted by swallowing past

regurgitating future within this nebula

We/are/the/reward

I/am/the/failure

there is a mountain man cannot climb

No physical impediments

No obstructions

there is an unquenchable thirst

an unthreadable needle

a tear in the conscious of man

a fear in the psyche of woman

we cannot escape our revered opponent

ripping ourselves apart

shredding flesh down to rusted framework of our structure

Meet/me

In/the/endless/field

Lie, with your omega

Stitch this past and future

Mend our volumes, our story innate

Collapse the walls which these words create

End this constant sheltering

This/storm/is/passing

Night shall fall with the rise of dawn

We/are/the/reward

We/are/the/treasure

I/am/the/want

I/am/the/need

Of no one

Anything.

We are the great failure.

Lie awake in the endless field.

Exhale your last into my first

Clear skies save the rain from its demise

Your needle enters

Feel the puncture deep within, corridors inside

Glands alive

Salivating at the thought

OF/JUST/MORE/TIME

I cannot continue to seek out that which destroys

I am decisions, my life, my maker, creator

In disguise the she-thief, all fore-seeing taker

Whom does not take

But receives

Sacrifices, limbs, pieces of these

Organs

Fluids

Thoughts

Past

Present

Death

Giving yourself away only extends the thread unto other needles

Weaving in and out

Stitching this treasured past

Connecting desires

Wants

Needs

Regrets

Dreams

Failures

Rewards

BREATHE

Forgotten by the Adam

Not by the Eve

For with the fall of night

Comes the beckoning rise of dawn

The balance of the needle

Rise and fall lay at ends

Together in the endless field

The alpha and omega

The stitching and the needlework

The reward and the failure

The you and the me

This is the culmination of failure

On all of which I feed

May your breath remain in my last

Gasping chance to save us.

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