Hopeful Hopelessness

I'm full of what you're wearing now.
Sloppy kisses
and drunk texts
paint you less to be what I want
more than I'll ever regret.
It's not a prayer you can't hear.

I signed off the light
like the start
of another fight
about to end.
Packed full of twists and turns
so much
that you don't know what to do.
I be the better man
in return
by saying nothing
in return.
This is not again
again,
and I thought you could learn.

My double negatives are expletive.
The third wrong making a right
like a tired Jesus
suffering long completed.
An unrivaled believist
born with a sunken fist
into a storm of socio-terrorists
and trying harder to look over it
than becoming them.
But to be is just to be;
so why am I bewildered
by the burdens
become of me?

The end is a holograph.
A faded picture of hope-stained lithographs
reminding me
I'm not at home
when home is where I go.
A humble cariacture of a cariacture
mocking what's gold and
meant to be the best for me.
All the love and trust veiled
by rat thorns and rose tails
isn't enough to impale or exhale
my symphony of reckless knowing-it-most
when it seems I care the least.
My heart, my beast,
has other intentions
in better directions
than this one we're in
and you know as well as I hope
that this is just an ending
on the way to where we're next to
begin.