and i would rather
            lie to myself
            -than to you
(and sometimes that line becomes gray, though)
where i end and you begin
            (and marginal and liminal)
and
::search for answers elusive as this night::
            -something (as dark and vague)
            (as jumbled and worn)
            (as lost and alone)
and so i YIELD
-and try to become so intoxicated by
(The Forgetting)
            -the high of it all
            -and the rush
            -and the burn
(of the shining star trapped
::born::
            inside) where
(The Pleasure)
            ::mingles::
and becomes
(The Pain)
            (like you and me)
and that gray line
            -where you and me becomes we
and us
and that gray line

(:and that gray line:) . . .

the ash of your voice
            hides its own embers
(Searing White Pain)
(Tearing Black Pleasure)
            ::watch that wispy waver of smoke::

            -oh, no (the hurt)
            -come on
            -but you
            -really, i can't
(and yet always)

please ::burn:: me again
            (i need another dark line on my arm)