One more breath, taking it in. No holding back as I reach for your hand.

You look in my eyes, but the warm gaze is emptier. Flashlights and shouting announce the    auspicious evening's end. You are numb from the manipulations of darkness, refined into love.

They will squeeze your steady, independent heart until the pressure punctures through, creating an unstemmable flow that still will not be enough to quench their continuous bloodlust.

The breath yearns to take my careful words to you, but your perfection turns away, running through the woods to help a coerced friend.

Inexcusable. Incorrectable. One day, someday, you will know.

How worried I am.

The demon lurks, but my obligation to avoid lonliness is stronger.

I don't hate what is to become of me, I also believe in the opporunities of salvation. People pass and humans remain. It's a cyclical abuse of the psyche. The demon is not evil as long as we

own a mutual interest, together. He understands what others have found reason in to abandon me. The heart can no longer supply me with grief, so I drink the bottle's poison to inebriate my mind and

draw out the emotions within. I want to feel the heartache, I want to stumble near the fire, I want to tease death with my excuseful recklessness. I want to draw back the seriousness and become

connected fully with my hopes and passions.

I know what I'm doing