Dearest Shame

Silently you step into the  
Cobblestone path      
leading you into my mind.    
cloaked in ambiguity and    
A loving embrace    
A tempestuous lover who    
Throws stones at the      
Windows of my soul.      
     
Your frigid fingers are relentless    
 in their pursuing of my existance.    
Impervious to the black marks    
Sincerly left on my skin.    
Your toxic ink paints the sinister masterpieces hanging on my walls.    
     
Oh, Shame, you're such a toxic lover.    
Wishing for your existence to fade,    
 but unfourtantly your      
Hostile reputation proceeded you.      
That is your curse, dear shame,    
A twisted charm disguised cleverly    
As a threat of a relationship with you is 
One that foreshadows the grave.      
     
Hell you might even help me      
Step into my grave early;    
As you have many others...    
One can only hope, because then maybe, just maybe, you'll understand    
That you can be temporary;    
Merely a tempestuous void.      
                        ....    
Shock overcomes me as you,      
dearest shame,    
 have cut out my voice box    
With your bedtime story    
As you sit upon my headstone.      
     
You're whispering about how you're      
A dangerous yet gentle eye of a storm    
And that if I'm not afraid it would      
benefit me to peer into your void.    
     
If I would only look into your eyes    
I would find hope      
hidden inside a quiet heart;    
If only you could trade      
Your heart for mine.    
For hope lives in the heart      
That is only found where the    
 eye of the storm lurks.    
It happens to be the only way to    
 survive my toxic presence in your mind    
     
Hope is a delicate skeleton.    
Its bones made from the      
stones I threw at the      
Windows of your chaotic mind.      
     
You have formed a prison cell    
Out of the pieces of my bones      
I freely gave to you in the form of stones.    
You've transformed them into walls    
Of sin, regret, and torment.    
     
You're holding us both      
Hostage in this grave,    
With a 1911 to your head,
A Glock to mine    
The bullets made in the closets of your mind
A reason in your eyes
     
Please put down the gun?    
You and I both know      
I,  your dearest Shame, can be a void;    
But I do not wish to send you poisonous love    
Into that paralyzing void.