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We stood on the cliff and stared down on a city so beautiful, and as my tears hit
the ray steming from a streetlight you held my hand. But you were nervous, because I was
afraid, and the sweat caused my hand to slip, and I fell off.

Now here I am falling, and flailing... hoping that soon I’ll hit the ground, and
either stop breathing, or start living. You never held me up, you only held me back.

I heard you call me beautiful under your breath, and I laughed. It’s funny how you
can scream that I’m a bastard at the top of your lungs, but as soon as I become
beautiful you hide your words. I found them in amoungst the dead leaves I sleep upon.

I wrote your name in the sand where we used to stand, and as the tide rolled in it
echoed... delayed... but never washed away.

Valentine’s Day Martyr.

I am the awkward in these silences, so I keep you talking and we pretend it’s not
real. The personification of what is honest about a liar, and heart-first to your
door-step I pulled all the pedals from this flower. There’s just as many who love
me, as those who don’t, but you’ll only ever know what I tell you. Everything
everyone has ever said is all heresay unless you’ve heard it from me. I wrote
"Valentine’s Day Martyr" on the shirt I was sewing with the blood that
leaked from my fingertip. February Fourteenth Two Thousand and Three was the birthday of
the greatest thing to happen to fashion, and I’ll cloak you in disguises. The envy
in the smile you flaunt in front of all your friends, and the lust you mask for all your
enemies. What creature born of hatred for both man and woman could still force himself
above these branches and show what love is? The same creature who could rip you to pieces
just as easily. The epitome of his everything, bearing the burden of a listless life.
Nomadic, and stable for a few moments resting here to gain the strength to carry on. Like
Mother Goose the tales will be told in this shade, only the truth in these memories will
leave you with a scar of my name on your chest. The light cast in this darkness is only
momentary, and converting them from moments to minutes made the days before I grew sick of
you, or you grew sick of me. The in-between of nausea and maddness, you’ll realize
you need me more than we thought. When did it become a crime to know the most important
person in your life is yourself?

the
blood
trickles
ever-so
slowly
down
my weakened
arm.

Texture means nothing if you can’t feel a
thing.

{I’m writing out a list of all the people I hope I have affected in my short life,
and I finally got to your name and discovered that with you I was infectuous at best.
’m learning to love knowing I am the plague.}

[center]
I make so few promises, and I make less to you, because I know I’ll keep them. So
when I promised you I’d kill myself to see you happy, you can’t look shocked
staring down at a bathtub full of blood, and the razor I used to cut you free. This is
what I was sure you wanted from me, and when you never disagreed I never knew a
difference. I suppose this is goodbye.

Love Always.
Ezra Peril.