Hot Water Feels Cold

Why do the winds blow so haughty and temperate in may.
Why does the sky turn bright and golden as the sun sets.
Is there a reason the water feels cold when its hot,
Hot when its cold?
And how can one person be so alone amongst so many.
I wish that I knew why the world spins at the poles where the ice collects,
Or why it spins at all.
There must be some reason why water is still water even when shown by a light.
I only wish to understand the meaning of night and day,
And why things look different in the dark.
I want to know why the sun burns hot, radiating its pleasant light,
While all along my heart beats cold in my chest as I touch her face.


I touch her, all of her.
Yet I feel nothing but the smooth skin of another lover.
All I feel is a slight slacken in the grip of reality’s choking grip around my throat.
It’s nothing.
She’s nothing,
What she says; means nothing,
What she feels is nothing.
What she does is nothing.
Just weakness -- submission and love -- sliding off her skin like her clothes,
Being tossed aside to show the true fragile woman beneath.
We all act like we know what we are doing,
Where we are headed,
And what we will do when we get there.
But we are all like the leaves blowing off their branches in the wind on the 1st of September.
Or the morning dew, sliding off of a lush, green, velvet dagger of grass.
Like blood, sliding down the silver blade of sorrow in my hand.
Spontaneous.
That’s the God damn truth.


We enter our sinful world by a spontaneous act of lust.
Wearing a mask of contentment, to hide inside ourselves from one another.
But we never really take off the mask
Until we leave our sinful world in a spontaneous act of shame.
Spontaneous.
So why does it matter why the wind blows like living fire through the air,
Or why cold water is hot, hot water cold. Why does it matter what she thinks, does, says, wants.
Its all for me, ‘fuck you’, and suicide.
Everything else means nothing.