Poems for a man I hated

I manipulate existence

How hard is that? Nothing never exists

Processing a thought, an emotion, a concept

Brings the exact thing to be

What is the point of fighting?

Existing exists, that much we know

Existence never dies, only changes with assistance

A sparkle, a birth, a life, a corpse

All things just a stone’s throw

No more a distance than love from abhorrence

I manipulate existence

I lift the stone and I throw

Looking to you, my beloved? My hated?

It is up to you to decide

You manipulate existence

Have you ever met a man

Whose existence was your broken mirror

Embodiment of stolen secrets

Your psyche wouldnt let you keep

You can swear you know the truth

You can scream it to the heavens

But all you can see is a projection

He feels like you

Did you birth him from your soul?

That must be the only way

All your foulest fears could manifest

So now you sit in your fear

Dont meet him; Dont trust him; Dont look

For if he gazes in your eyes

He can see your soul, your souls

Dont see him; Dont touch him; Dont look

’ll take your soul for himself

I think about you and my heart swells

I am disgusted

My soul yearns for a sententious bastard

Nihilistic fantasies of noir and neon

Begging for my hand, my fist, my mind

His cravings blocked by a facade

I will rise high above him, but as I rise

I look back to him and plead to him

Rise for me, fight with me

My philosophy stems from you

I think about you and my hate swells

I am delighted

A lonesome vampire sits, braced for the embrace of Day. Eons and eons could never wipe away the pain, pain of an uncertain eternity. Was eternity meant to set free or entrap? Are you truly free if you are stuck in the same state? Are you truly alive if you cannot really die? The only release is a Star so bright all others disappear. Isn’t that what the vampire craves, to disappear like every other lesser star in the sky? Day has tempted it so many times with beautiful words etched with sap and ichor into bark and bone, but it felt it could show the Day it was right, eternity was worth living. Each day, a note in a song. But days blur together and notes played too fast, and soon each week was a note and each month and year and soon enough life became a cacophonous hum and the Day has won, for a lonesome vampire sits, waiting to become one with him