Dear sweet Jesus, my mother would say.

Dear sweet anyone, I'm feeling lost amid all this chaos and triviality. The world lifts me in its arms and sings a sweet lullaby, only to begin screaming and shrieking like some monstrous nightmare demon. Perhaps it was screaming all along, and I simply didn't notice because I was blinded. I was deaf, and I failed to open my eyes and peer past the pink champagne facade and the delicious aroma of all that twinkles and sends you flying to the moon.

I was blinded by my own sense of invincibility.But now I see myself as something fragile, at the mercy of a million shallow minds. Shallow as puddles in august, and holding more sway than anything in the universe, because they see only themselves as its rulers.

I wanted to be their ruler. Their God and their saviour... or something much more vulgar. I wanted to be their lover.

The world was a lousy lover, I found. She promised me everything and she delivered me unto the arms of pain. So I found another, and he was mine, and secret, and everything that the world was not, nor could understand. He was like me.

Only lovers can be so cruel.. and the world itself is no exception. She is the cruelest lover of them all. But she is the one we all want.

Fall at my feet and call out my name, and tremble when I'm near, like flower petals in all colours, and rainbows of sound. I touched you, for a brief time, and we were one.. a single heartbeat blotting out the silence of an endless lack of meaning.

You found me, and I had sought you out, painfully and dishonestly, but you were mine. I gave myself to you, and you were nobody and nothing, and I found out too late..

What I have lost is nothing compared to what I have found. And it's a shocking, personal secret that can never be shared. There is nothing in this life worth hoping for, that cannot be acheived - and nothing in this life worth achieving, that cannot be taken away in one swift, heartbreaking moment of agonising ambush.

Her kiss is deadly. But as with all prostitutes, the drugs go hand in hand. They come for you out of the madness and the turmoil, and they offer you sweet relief, simple refuge from the deluge of complications. No one can refuse her... and her name is addiction.

She is like the words to the sweetest love song imaginable. Saccharine and bittersweet both, you know all the while that in the end she'll break your heart and leave you for dead. But still you can't deny her.

I cannot be salvaged, saved, changed, nor broken. For I am already pieces of all it all.. shattered and glittering as though life still resides within.

I let the words guide me, and the music always rushes across the tapestry, complicating things, but simplifying the whole process. Listen to my deceptions, and pay no heed to my irrelevant self.

I. Me. Myself. Sentence fragments without worth.. without a place here.

All along I whispered in her ear... -There is no meaning to this. And there will be no justice at its end.-

She never answered me, until now. And it's glorious, exhilirating, and utter despair. She spears me slowly, finding my soul and baring it for all the world to see. There is no hiding anymore, from her.. from any of you.

I looked her in the eye, with so much bravado and arrogance. And in the end she looked back at me.. her soft laughter still ringing.. ringing.. ringing in my ears. You cannot conquer the world. She will always conquer you first.

Dear.. sweet.. Jesus, she said. Her coffee spilled down the taffeta, and she had no more words. But it has always been this way, and the truth is not a sin.

It's not a sin. For if the truth is a sin, then you are all going to heaven. And what a heaven it shall be. Love will be conditional, and desire will be quenched, and time will not progress, because attitudes will remain fixed. Stagnant. Wilting.

I pave the way for new generations. And we are a generation of deception, standing tall despite you. And we scream out the truth from the rooftops, into your deaf ears.

And poetry will be recognised for all that it is.. simply another deception. Even death sounds appealing when written in the correct words, and it transcends defeat and becomes a triumph. The blood, and the pain, and the darkness.

And softly he said..

I will mangle your mind.