The nights you fight best are
when all the weapons are pointed at you,
when all the voices hurl their insults
while the dream is being strangled.
The nights you fight best are
when reason gets kicked in the gut,
when the chariots of gloom encircle you.
The nights you fight best are
when the laughter of fools fills the air,
when the kiss of death is mistaken for love.
The nights you fight best are
when the game is fixed,
when the crowd screams for your blood.
The nights you fight best are
on a night like this
as you chase a thousand dark rats from your brain,
as you rise up against the impossible,
as you become a brother to the tender sister of joy
and move on
regardless.

The moon is hiding under her blankets tonight.
:

Little wolf skin boots,
and clove cigarettes.
An erotic funeral
for Witch she’s dressed.
Her perfume smells like burning leaves,
every day is Halloween. 

via
 

The concept of falling out of love with someone who once meant the world to you is one that never ceases to astound me.  Taking someone who was once everything to you and transforming them into nothing again seems like an impossible task, especially when you are in the midst of it.  It seems that we are either capable of loving someone in some way forever or never really loving them at all.  At which point is it that we decide that we’ve had enough and the relationship is just too painful?  When is it exactly do we begin to forget how much we once cared for someone?  The wounds that we leave in others as well as those that are left in us are sometimes too raw to risk falling back into them.  In this case, I suppose the mind tells us to go on, and it forces our hearts to follow suit.  Grief appears to be a faster and more thorough teacher than joy, and once you feel such intense and depthless feelings for someone, there will always be parts of them that linger and intertwine with the fibers of your being.  Memories are impressed on places you went and songs you listened to and things you said…  Those ghosts will remain, sometimes even long after they are gone from your life.  Once the emotion is experienced, I don’t believe that love should or can be replaceable, but I do hope that we force it to be that way for the sake of survival.  We all start as strangers, and we are drawn to souls that are made of the same stuff in which our own stars are comprised.  We are all simply waiting for another universe to collide with ours, to transform what we can’t ourselves; to fill us, to make us whole.  The collision can wreck us, change us, shift us; sometimes we become eternally connected and undetached and other times we decidedly move away because the adjustment required in accepting another’s universe in colliding with yours is a promise that we can’t possibly keep.  It is heartbreaking and intriguing all at once how after everything is said and done, after we feel the storm return to calm, our stars are always forever altered and we do not have control over which particular collisions hold the power to alter us.  
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