Do I fear admitting to loves discourse?
Or is it the foolish heart I fear?
For either path.. appears to produce intemperate winds.
In admitting to my love, I place myself in supplication.

As honest as it may be, 
I leave myself open to the ever-deepening scars of loss.
Yet, in standing fast against all 
I will bear the disfigurement of solitude and loneliness:

Every bit as painful and even more murderous than loss
Both are the sentries of Pandemonium.. neither can I deceive.
Stretched upon a lake of flame: 
compelled to smell the charred flesh of possibilities.

Witness to my own evil: my own good: plotting the overthrow of each other.
Yet, able to see in each- a humanity, that both are blind to.
From neither.. can I ask consolation.
From neither.. can I seek a compromise.