Toxic On The Outside

Sunday morning calls for a new beginning
A new attitude towards this beast starring me in the eyes
I recall the youth inside, a child's manner
in the way he'd stand uncomfortable
because I asked him not to smoke pot
so I wouldn't be uncomfortable with the littleness
he'd become, like a mortal weak
sinking lower, making me taller
putting aside appearances otherwise.
The new today may let him drown
in this ecstasy, these feeling I don't believe in,
since Sundays I go to church
and God speaks to me of truth,
not Hail Marys or statues
but light, fixed and focused, living deep
in craters built by a hand unknown
where doves flutter peace and love
burried inside the mystery that is my heart.
There, God tells me silently of how it's supposed to be
of how the pleasure felt outwards
only shine so brightly till it dies
till it needs a fuel not found
by the treasures of mankind,
a fire that can feed the soul into a space
fertil with fruit, real in gold,
ripe with life, immortal in beauty.
That day, that night
when he'd touch me not afraid to love me
when I let him carry me in his strong arms
when the distance was a blink away
and there was no battle to be fought or won.
That was pure. We didn't need the outward.
We only knew we were blessed among the lost
He only felt it was too much to feel this genuine
I only felt it was too good for my own good
and the blueness that the years carried us through
makes today filled with the outside
misplaced on the inside, where I still search for his eyes
where delicacies are sour without his kiss
where he digs to find where he can become himself
when someone will let his lungs burn to a black toxic
from the savory cigarrets I hated so much
Where I try to forget I know how to be loved
only to want to make him white and heal again.