Pain can be
much more than just
the blood on you hands,
and pleasure runs
far deeper than
a touch--
a little bit is sometimes
all you really need,
and sometimes far
too little's
just too much.
I wish I thought
you felt I had some worth
to you;
the burn is cold
and bites me to
the bone--
there's only one
small word I need
to hear from you,
but all you say is
'just leave me alone'.

Agony is hearing
how you speak to me,
and death is when you
do not speak at all--
I'd rather that you
strike me down
and torture me
with pain;
I'd rather see you rise in rage
than simply watch
you fall.

Everytime I see you there
I simply need
to cry,
and everytime you speak
I simply
all the words you whisper
when you think
no one's around,
all the hidden teardrops
only make me
need to stay.
I want you once
to feel you can rely
on me;
your hatred hurts
like acid in
my eyes--
but all you seem to care
about is what you lost,
the vanished ones
who hurt you
with their lies.

Agony is waiting for
your bitter voice,
and death is when
it's just not there to hear--
I'd rather bear
the wounds
of your aggression,
than think you
never know when I
am near.

All the time I listen
to you,
praying for a smile;
that rare
sadistic laugh
uplifts my soul--
It hurts that pain
is all that really pleases you,
but I'm just glad
that something fills
the hole.
Denial makes
me pray you know I'm
here for you;
but truth is cruel
and leaves
my vision blurred--
I'm left alone
and broken where
you tossed me down,
wishing you would speak
that precious

my agony is in
your eyes. . .

Every night I watch
the way you
cannot sleep,
your terror makes
my heartbeat need
to break--
I want and yet I do not
dare to comfort you,
and watching's so much
more than
I can take.
I need to know
you know that I
will come to you;
why can't you see that
I'll always be
or maybe your
is my punishment,
and I have truly
lost you to
the memory of fear.

I'm dying when I watch
you cry. . .

All the pale illusions
that you
conjure up,
all the games you
seem to like
to play--
I cannot stand the listless way
they leave your gaze,
the way they seem
to drain your soul away.
I only cry
because I know
you do not care;
because I know that
you will
feel no pain--
I know you said that
word to someone else
I wish your heart
could hold the sounds

Agony is knowing
that you cannot feel,
and death is when I know
you're feeling pain--
I'd rather see that
and apathy,
than have to watch
you crumble
down again.

Agony is knowing
what they've done to you;
I die because I know
you'd let them hurt you
once again--
why is it that you
cry out for
your enemies,
when I care for you
so much more
than them?

Your agony my agony,
I'm dying from your pain. . .

it's them that left you
broken and
abused like this,
so why in sleep
do you cry out
those names?
Why do you seek the
ones who left you scarred like this,
why is it that you're
the one you blame?

Agony is watching you
abuse yourself,
and death is when I know
you want to die--
it's knowing that
you'll never call me
'partner'. . .
and worse that I
am too afraid to try.

~(c)04/01 The Mad Poet (A.K. LaBelle)