as the world moves onwithout me.
GoldlustIt's more than a wantit's a need.The way you cravethe lust on your chestheavy with aphrodisiaand amber dew.Seems a small price to payfor this temptationeach coupling stainingthe thread barefabric of youralready withering soul.It's easy to seeyou couldn't care lesshow he deals with the knowledgethat you'd do anything at allto posses the sun.
LillithShe'll tempt you with wordssweet and crisplike the wine that teasedand drugged yousleepy.She'll try to convince youit's only moonlight in her veinsand that curious sensationhas nothing to do with yourinnocence.And all the while you're wrappedin a world she created,never noticing how shehides your soulbehind the glint in her eyesas you gaze captivatedinto the face of sin.
Writer's BlockForgive meif I donttickle your fancywith a lyricor two.I seem to havemisplaced myenvelopes of anecdotes& the bedtime storyjust isnt feelingup to par.You seemy memoriesrely on thatfaulty camera in my mind& the lens is fogged withchampagne dreamsmaking it quite the struggleto impart my witticisms.Not to mention thatI simply dont care.
DistantDid you regret iteach and every timeyou opened you mouthand laid on thickthe fire-cozy reassurancesof your affection? You never once looked me in the eye when you said it.I should have knowneach time youprofessed yourlovethan you were onlystrengtheningthefoundationfor that brick wallyou were so insistenton having around you.Its all so clear nowhow my optimismstrained to seeover the stones while mynaiveteprovided the mortar between them.Of courseHindsight is alwaystwenty-twenty.
ObservationI like tolay in theafterglowof your love& watch thewayyoumove&& I wonder if you'reawareof how I'm counting.each. .little. .thing.that you do& the waythey make me smilelikeChristmas morning.
WantShe lovedthe way his handsmoved likesunsetshadows over her skinand the sweet musicof his breath drewachingpatterns on thecanvas of herdesirebringing taut satin nervesinto therude awakening ofpassion.
BikiniIts a perfectly clear day and yet |thickchokingfogclosesmythroat|that suffocating anxiety which plagues us allat one time or anotherstillI take the riskSoft cotton glides over my skin tingling caressingeach nerve ending.The cloth slides away and my ears pick up asudden intake of breath.From behind my shades my eyes flickerGaging reactionsDisecting the quirk in their lipsThe gleam in their eyes and I feelexposed.And as the sun beats down upon my skinI realise. I am beautiful.
TemptingWhen Im driving at nightand the music stops just long enoughfor me to hear theheartbeat|in between breath and coherent thought|a curious thoughtslides through my lipsto be savored with caution.If I just keep driving,where will I see the dawn?
DenialShe'll swear UP down and diagonalthe love that used to close her throatandblind her to all others isg o n e .It eloped with herstarry-eyed innocencewhen the tide washed awayall the promises he wrotein thes a n dAcceptance is not an optioneven though hischarming deceitstill |chokes| her reasonand thatpuppetmasters grinslides like v e l v e t over her skin. (Because you and I both know involuntary reactions rarely go a
lady macbeth remembers her motheri was her kindling, my teethset the spark. all i do rememberis the trembling.they say that once born, once raised to sucklefrom my mother's flaccid breast,i chewed so violently at the bit of lifethat i brought blood.they say that i would not be pulled away at first,squalling like a small animal mangled,pink petal lips demanding gore.my mother's touch was gentle henceforth,her fingers ghosted with flourtwirling themselves in my hair.she held me as a dove. an egg.she supposed love could cure me,serve a balm to the black devil wartson my soul. here, a spot of sunshine.here, the grains of sugar held out to meon her fingertip. she called me angeland found the shrunken bodies of the flowersuprooted. she called me preciousand found the mice, fetal and unblinking,underneath my pillow.her love might have worked,had i not seen, each time she turned,each time her eyes first found me in a room,the trembling.the glassy fear that she then tucked away inside herlike crusty
ma merei think my mother thinks i'm blind,that i see only my own faultsand forget the fractures in her composure,the fissures in her failing heartthat keep her awake at night.i fear she thinks i do not see the strength in her scars.i think my mother thinks i'm deaf,that i cannot hear her silent sadness;it has always echoedin the halls of this family home.maybe she thinks i do not hear the wisdom in her words.i think my mother thinks i'm numb,that i do not feelthe eternal love in every touch;i know with absolute certaintythat no onewill ever love melike my mother does.every hug is a blessing that brings me home.but maybe, my mother has it twisted.i'd do anything for her to see the beauty in being faulted,to know she hears me when i say 'i love you',and be assured she feels my heart when i hug her back.
LiarStriking designStunning, the messageOutrageous to the knowingUniquely colouredSuperb, the techniqueHilarious to the informedWisely composedSkilfully arrangedMaster of his ArtLiar.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
SapiosexualI don’t know what I’ll dowhen the first fistfulof dirt hits the bottom.Maybe I’ll follow you to the grave.Or maybe I’ll prayfor a zombie apocalypse,so we can dine on eachother’s brains one more time.
TealTealwaters worry the pristinesand, washing blank paperinto a bevy of tidepools.The hush of the surge whispersits song into conch shells;the tinge of brine mingleswith coconut milk and driedseaweed clumping the beach.Hermit crabs dot the strandlike constellations, waitingfor soothsayers to read meaninginto their trails before the waveswash them away like comets.
TakenIt was just a strategic readjustment.It was just a necessary tactical move.It was just your finger moving half an inch leftand curling slightly.It was just the centimeter or two of differencebetween the moment that just was,and the one that is,but you reached for my handand you took my heart.
VulnerableWhenthe night sky shedsit's cover to air outstars by thet h o u s a n d sI can't help butfearthat I amlostin spacedisoriented &&out-of-controlas the world moves onwithout me.