Finding Euphoria [Tears of Bloody Ignorance]

Neither passion nor anger
And he always finds something
That will keep me waiting here...

When it comes to passion,
There is no bliss
In ignorance,
There is no good
In not seeing what is wrong,
There is no right
In the unknown,
There is no thrill
In the heart wrenching suspense.

When it comes to passion,
There is no saving grace
In a title when you are always placed second,
There are no heroes
Among procrastinators,
There is no valor
In triumph if there is no reform,
Things will never be back to being different
Unless distinction is found.

Someone has laced my meal with poetry
And I am reading about las mariposas*.
This is a self-induced poison,
A self-destructive bomb,
A land mine that has been dormant
For far too long without a toe placed out of line
To set it off.
And I find myself a servant
To the hope he left behind,
Praying he will follow through
And that I will not be casted aside
As a last resort.

I am struck, love struck
And in my stricken,
I find euphoria, a will, fullness, and pleasure.
Lucky are those who taste love
And still taste its blood to this day.

If only I could taste that sweet blood
On my lips now.
If I could taste his kiss of Four Seasons,
I would known he would never forsaken me
But too many miles afar...
Aye. That must be the passion for things
Other than the warm.
A compassion of words, letters, and sounds,
Those which keep the mind about.

A compassion that is there
But is the reason for this strife!
Or the lack of this current bond
Is it more.
It's feeling is fading with happiness...
And I pray.
And I cry in the night,
For the taste which my being
Will never forget:
The warmth and texture of his body, skin.

Vigor words whispered a thousand times over,
Now never intended for me to hear again.
Fools words when uttered so freely
To ensnare free man's minds
And take away all hope of living
After her wrath has passed.
Sacred words should be spoken at sacred times
And if whisked around like daisies,
A serpent's tongue will be forged
Unto said mouth.

Snared shall I sit until that day
The lines of the troller are cut.
I fell deeper into the net as I went,
And suffer the fate of the bycatch.
As I stare hopelessly above
At one of the best fish
I could have known
Is chosen, on healthier
Than I could have been.

*las mariposas: the butterflies