In so many ways...

It always feels the same. The aching.
It always feels like the slow drip of your soul as it leaves your body in the form of broken ideals.
In so many ways, I want to be clean of this.
This desire for someone else to love me.

In so many ways I crave the fire and the passion of someone to anger me,
destroy my monotony.  
Wreck my precariously constructed peace.
Take one by one all the last fragments of me...
I don't want them anymore.

In so many ways I crave solitude,
a grey blue dawn with steam rising from a sequestered pond,
a place to know that none but me could ever hurt me again.
a quiet that I could lose myself to the never ending numbness of suffering.