Dinner and Some Woe

Disclaimer: This is completely fictionalized

Dinner and Some Woe

I arrive
dressed in good intentions
to find you
in a Satan dress,
your fiery desires
providing us with light,
like freshly lit candles,
casting shadows across your heart
and brightening what you call
your "important parts",
lying on the table,
two bloody breasts
waiting for someone
to suck the flavor from them.

The course is set
for a coarse evening,
your backhanded comments
already leaving
raw rashes
glowing on my cheeks.
I silently nod and smile,
trying to hide the falsehood
behind a forced laugh
so as to not seem impolite.
Blood drips from her chin
as she tares apart my heart
with sharpened teeth,
leaving nothing
but broken rib bones
and my vein attempts
to see the goodness in her.
She pulls some of  it
out from between her
decaying gums
(from all the deceit
she spews forth
no doubt)
playing with it like a string,
batting it back and forth
with her tender paws
only to unsheathe her claws,
ripping me a new one.

Having finished the meal,
she licks off the last drops
of blood,
blending in with her lips,
and prepares herself
to ravage the desert
that has been sitting
across the table
the whole meal,
a temptation quite within reach.

Despite remembering regrets,
my heartbeat enters hers,
two distinct drummers
trying furiously
to keep the beat
for the same disjointed tune,
unsynchronized and unsatisfying,
until she hastily takes control,
pushing my pounding tempo aside
to make room on the bed.

Sullenly,
she slips off my sore soul,
slinking away swiftly
without glancing back,
her scaly shins
and despondent sighs
rake against me
with equal force.
Rising slowly
from my cocoon of shameful desire,
I spread my arms
to feel reborn
as a broken man,
long scratches
running up and down my shoulders,
screaming for a drink,
thirsty for a sip of my ancestry.
I try to cry,
if only to feed him,
but she had sucked me dry
of all emotion.

Now I am just
a sorry sack
of good intentions
searching for someone
to make me more.

A Moment of Regret

A Moment of Regret
by Luke Muench

Grabbing you
by the chest
at the earliest convenience,
I lead you away
before my gut lets out,
spilling all my
despicable insides
across the cotton-white carpet,
leaving a trail of blood drops
filled with disgust and self-loathing
for others to follow.

From room to room we rush,
searching for a certain space
where we can shut away
and speak,
building boxes of burdens
to strap to the breaking backs
of our hearts.
For no one else
should ever see or hear
what we have to share.

Finally, we skid to a stop
in this dimly-lit den,
the sounds of others
drowning into the concrete walls,
the calls cut off abruptly,
sinking into the murky distance.

We sit down,
only for me
to quickly usher you up again,
severely unsettled
by the uneven seats,
refusing to look down
on a man such as you.

So, settling side by side
on the scratchy rug,
I look you square in the soul
and whisper,
"I'm sorry that I am
who I am."

The apology spans ages
in those eight words.

It's for when I took you in
as a companion
only to disappear overnight,
closeting myself
between the pages of my books.

For my disjointed mind
always wanting
to be there for you,
a willing hand
to lift the hurt
from your aching bones,
yet never knowing
how to take hold,
my grasp always slipping
from uncertainty.

For fooling you,
making you come
to the conclusion
of how my head works,
only to make the world morph
beneath your feet,
forming a finicky flooring
for you to traverse.

I say it
over and over,
the words spilling out,
uncontrolled,
jumping off my jagged lips
and into your outstretched ears,
hoping that their delicate lines
might be caught and cradled
in your understanding.

It sounds worse to me
when spoken aloud,
thoughts I could hardly
admit to myself,
let alone release
into the world,
an awful acknowledgement,
for another
to take hold of.

Eventually, I stop,
the silence ringing in my ears,
the quiet terror
that comes with waiting
for the worst.

He... smiles,
holding me by the shoulder
and says softly,
"Never be sorry
for who you are,
because I couldn't imagine
working alongside
anyone else."

Tears come unbidden
to my face,
and he holds me
in his strong and caring arms
as I sob fiercely,
letting all my pain
fall away
into the past,
embracing the future.

We Are One in the Spirit

For a friend's loss; I hope this helps you through the hard times and doesn't hurt too much to read.

We Are One in the Spirit

Please don't cry

in my wake,

love;

I hate to see

the sorrow

in your eyes,

reflected in

the droplets of depression

that run down your face.

Don't ever think

that I have left your life,

dear;

we will always have

the laughs and hugs

that left our chests light

with a fervent peace.

This is no time

to say goodbye,

hon;

you can never

lose another

who you have cherished

with an honest adoration.

My wispy hand

touches your soul

on the way up,

leaving a little piece behind

so you can find me

when time matters not

and our hearts

are intertwined

in His lands.

"And they'll know we are Christians by our love."

Long Live Love.