Don’t bitch, don’t moan, use time take it slow
What love begets and fate regrets
Haunts until your mind is set.
Us is lust but lust is a dream.
Deferred? See, it depends…
Hear what you will will be what it seems
Not to the viewer or the thinker’s keen;
Only the experiencer has the potential
To drive themselves cliffside over one word or gesture.
Strike at the world, deny love and vanity
Turn around and beg for another shot of insanity.
Shooting down droughts of their skin and heat
Clinging at arms length to know the want when eyes meet.
Looking away when the moment’s past,
Now hiding your eyes to avoid a distant glance
But all you think about is loving again…
Physical be damned, give me you.
And promise… no, just say…
When all is said and done, when you’re done,
You won’t leave me in the rain.

There are so many words to describe the contempt I have for the world right now, sometimes I have to dig deep to remember the things and people that make being alive actually worth the bullshit we're surrounded by. I'm looking for that happy medium where ecstacy balances hate and whats left is simple, clean, and right.

It's a waiting game. I've told myself that I won't reach for him again until he makes the first move.

Stones beg for tears; though they can't feel them, it's a comfort to know they were there

I don't think I do it for attention. I think... I hope... it's for the words, the expression, not the want, but the need. I have nothing interesting to talk about. No meaning. Not even strife, it's lost. You would understand.... that's why you don't need to know. You already do. The same bullshit. Always the same. The cold hard steel... her beauty... suicide, my queen... It won't come to that. I couldn't hope for something better... it exists... but you're right... I don't deserve it. You continue on your way. I'll find mine eventually. Thanks for the company though, I enjoyed it while I knew how to appreciate it.

Turmoil brings me here.

I’ll not remember her long...
I’ll reminisce of the presence, not the physical
The mind, but not the spirit
The eye, but not the soul.
She’ll exist in the shreds of the forgotten
A glimpse of what once was
That no one will care to repeat again.
What, then, is left of her,
If nothing more than that equal to a bad dream?
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Fragments, mere pieces. Not quite fitting together.