"Robinson's Cupcake Cathedral" Poem by Jeremy May

Burning my cathedrals. Sniper on the steeple. Such complications. This is where the line leaves the paper...

Crawls away from me into a traced tear fallen to far from my eye
Trust is an abortion...Indigenous to pain, seemingly odious because of lead filled hearts
Pure gold of pages unfolded
plus one.... negative two...
Me and you..
All the flowers died the night you went away..
leaving me no colored ink
just black...
It resembles a carbon mold impressed upon my tragedy
my world is on fire and no one has the water to quench me..
I lost my "no I"
New eye.. seeing the reds and blues of cuts and bruises left from dreams of you...

What a wicked thing to do...
My media is the ashes of my broken heart
I am a painter in a desolate room stroking my ego and filling
my pallet with the wickedness of absolute darkness...
I cut myself to see if color is real...

dead to the red outside my head and I have become a monster..
We all go in the end.. Jars of clay and folds of gold.