Your breath, let linger upon my neck, Your fingers, let trail down my side, Your tongue, let fire a million nerves, Your body, let wrap around mine, Without guilt, without revenge. Just passion Yourself, let take me to a heaven upon earth, Your hands, let caring caress me, Your lips, let lock and dance with mine, Your voice, let charm and impress me, Without hate, without sorrow. Just Passion Your length, let thrust through darkened hours, Your touch, let explore most elated, Your words, let enter and plunder, Your eyes, let see beyond their sights, Without other cares, without distraction. Just Passion
Why is love pain? The unhealing wound, The deepest cut, The loudest cry. Why is love pain? The broken heart, The teardrops, The weeping eye; Why is love pain? The crying child, The bank account, The earnest shout.
He's not the one for smiling, He loves his darkness so. Everything a shade of black, With stains of unwanted heart beats. He wallows in his own sorrow, But edges the worst away by blade, He has a girl, a lover, He sees collateral, a hostage. More than a major depressive, Un-controlled by Prozac, or Clozapine, Prone to miss a dose, And not scared to overdose. He doesn't give a damn, Tries to defend those around, But loses his own battle, Loses his own mind.
He lies so very still upon The white linen sheets. The muscles and joints Locked into a cast iron Ridged bodily form. Breath on hold and Lips iced blue. A peaceful look upon His departed face Sadden loss to all. A golden wooden box, In which last goodbyes were said, Before their mourning Wake for the departed's Departure.
Sorry shan't heal my wounds, It won't take away my pain. What happened, unforgivable, evil, And I've yet to understand it all. I used to unfathomably trust, To let people understand me, Yet now these scars, Prevent me from standing free. How could a friendly gesture, Breach all walls of protection, Leave me unguarded, insecure, Fearful of the monster, that's you. I doubt my own mental strength, And your strategic attack Shatters any fortitude remaining, To grant your one, unforgivable wish.
Often thoughts are all that counts, Sometimes words are - just - just - A minimal means of Daily communication. When all that is necessary is a thought, The vibration of human psychological activity, restricted for a lack of telepathy, confusing the vital with but only the uncalled for - objectives - objectives - Which are just simplified versions of hatred for ourselves.
Beneath the moon-drop eve he waits, Watching time drift past his brow, Whilst the owl twittered in the ferns, And the sparrows nestled in the twigs, And the cold wind wisps wild 'round the willows, T'wards the twisted taverns of town, So he waits past the sunset, Waiting for the angel of his hearts desire. He waits for the girl of god, With rich brown locks draped over Her petite and delicate face, With silken, glossy skin that's laid Perfectly over her womanly curves. Fine satin flows over her form, Crested gold sits upon her hair, Crowning her with the first woman's halo.
A blade, metallic and pointed, Strong and Powerful too, Leaves a mark, a scratch, A scar, memories proof. A flame, fiercest monster, Red, yellow, green and blue, Melting and burning, An ash pile left as remains. A bottle of little pills, Pink, white, and so potent, Helping and healing, Helping the hurt go away. A rope, fiber wound tight tough and flexible, Knotting and holding, Breathlessly available. A river, deep and dark, Flowing with currents of gold, And icy wasting waves. What a lung filler
A loving touch, From tender skin, And words as soft As petals. With golden hair, an affectionate smile, To match the Shining halo. Breath like ice, Yet warm with love, An angel he is, The angel loves, Not a gift But to shine Pearling whites, A smile of love Of loving delight
Love to live, some say. Live to love, say others. This word of power, Makes tender a thought, Makes grown boys: men. Be happy in love, Or love being happy, This word of power, Dearest to adoration, Gifted affection given, From one, to another.