Want to submit your work? Request an invite
come with me
along this route
of clinging vines
and love's complicated
signs, with hot pink
roses and swelling

rest with me
and hear the singing
birds, the tap-tap-tapping
of the woodpecker's
rhythmic words,
the rushing creek's
burbling sheets

wet love
coats the banks and feeds
the turtles, nourishes
the mind and takes us
back to an ancient time,
your heartbeats
finding mine

come with me
into a passage of reckoning
and i will place my heart
in your palm, complexities
gone when we sink
in the loam, this wild
softness our home.
Nat Lipstadt
for Jeannie Kristufek Hawrysz who once quoted me Shakespeare -
"Of all the words in the universe, when stated thrice, one royal gleams best, when in mathematical tripartite repetitive stated:  
love love love this."

third attempt and just not happening
then recall a Ben Folds hand-me-down
heard on Tuesday from Sara
about writer’s block

“Kick the editor out of the room”

the best don’t even flow,
they fall out of ya, rough and tumbling,
screaming did ya get that,
are ya keeping up,
you can be the self-editing-I need-perfection roadblock
or the delivery guy, the one with the towel and the scissors, who brings ya a clean new baby, and/or a veggie pizza,
which ya gonna pick?

another nougat nugget:
when you’re stuck, write about the block,
what’s sticking you; one would have thought
some one thousand five hundred poems later,
this one would have been midwifed a long, long time ago,  
but at 4:32am, it’s all I got

rather than throw false news confetti on myself
from the rafters that don’t exist in a citified apartment,
I’ll reward myself with some
rock n’ pop,
a revisitation to the scene of the crime, and listen quiet like and maybe leak back to prone sleep,
in hopes that the rest of the gang,
hoping the words to a  poem-in-transit,
“confetti is just tomorrow’s garbage”
gets off at my dreamy new subway stop

should the wordy birdies shotgun come sneaking in
thru the correct ear
i.e. not the sunken pillow one,
so I have half a fat chance of
recalling its dimensions in an hour, 
when I wake up-officially,

fat chance

later, like 4:56am
does she know
the way we danced?

those sparkling eyes
emerging from new love

how could she know?

tell me does she know
the late night telephone


that golden light
emerging from new love

how could she know?

tell me will you tell her
how you loved
how you didn't
and everything in between?

tell me will you tell her
the demons you shared
the ones you caused
and the tears of all the broken souls around you?

how could she possibly know?

i didn't.
inspired by songs, maybe i'll do a series.
this one is inspired by Mark Diamond's You're My Girl
I don't find limiting myself with a title,
There are no boxes left for me to fit in,
Or burst out of....
I find it's excitingly horrifying to be,
This lost.
There's a similar difference between identity and persona,
I am what I am, am I?
What am I?
Do you think the men I have only half loved,
But stroked their meek egos of,
And the woman I have cowered at,
As they screamed my name,
Know what I am,
Is not who I am?
There is a solace to be found in being wanted;
Are you the one they fall to on a late night,
When they are alone and drunk?
What about when their beds are cold?
When they cannot see you because, they are blinded,
By their quest to find themselves more, and you,
And you,
My dear,
Oh my sweet you,
Who is no one in this world,
Are a literally stepping stone in under their feet,
As you wish to be a moon in their stars.
What they don't tell you,
About surviving trauma when your brain is developing,
Is that your world turns to opposites,
Chaos is home
Drugs are home
Hate is home
Fear, is home;
Here secreted beneath my pallid skin,
I try to find them all a home,
Knowing I'll never find mine.
If self care and therapy was literal exercise,
I could bench press all of you, and more,
And save you all;
My motivation to not be broken is stronger than my will to die,
And they'll never know that,
As they try to break me,
Over and over, and over,
And over again.
Everyone's broken.
No sorry, everyone has cracked edges,
Mishandled a few times
Not broken, slightly damaged.
We, the ones filled with gilded light, and songbirds,
We know the fucking difference between depression,
And eternal internal sadness,
From not understanding love, to
From seeking solace in the extreme,
To running away from arms that seek to confine.
Where for art fucking thou?

We are not here for your pleasure.
But we are.
How could we be, but anything else?

I tired.
I tried.
Driving too fast.
Telling them.
Saving them.
Being everything.

This isn't a shopping list.
It's. Not a bucket list.
It's what we do to survive,
When you're born without love.
David Lessard
I searched for moment's pleasures,
but then nothing did remain;
I sought out wealth and stature,
but the ending was the same.

I gathered books and music,
never gave much thought to sin;
women, wine and gluttony,
all were "grasping in the wind."

Foolish, man made fantasies,
not an inkling of tomorrow;
will all the silly happiness,
I was left with only sorrow.

With vanity, I lived my life,
then threw everything away;
beguiled by sheer ambition,
my ignorance held sway.

Were these things that mattered?
amid all dreams and wishing?
it was then, You found me Lord,
and the part that I was missing.
Mitch Prax
i have a compulsive habit
where I tend to cut people off
the second they get close to me.
Maybe I do this because
I’m terrified of being hurt again;
but maybe the reason isn’t important.
I tend to cut them off quickly
but allow you to stay
in the background like a radio;
On, yet no one is listening to it.
I’ll cut off anyone that reminds
of you because maybe
if I ignore you long enough
you’ll fade away.
Wondering if now is the time to say goodbye
To give up the hope that once
filled my soul
To crush the dreams that at the time
Could have filled a sky...


Tell me why the summer comes so slow
But the winter, it is long
Why the rush of spring, why the burst of energy?
Because the cold feels like an eternity

Take me back to the days of spring
Of birth and feelings of new
Of energy and vitality

I no longer want to feel like, i’m, falling
-Falling, into the pits of winter
To the darkness
the gloomy;
To the unrequited
the unrelinquished;
Among the bottles

O there are so many bottles
Each one filled with so much
But they lay until spring returns
To shatter them to pieces
And to release their contents once again
fast hearts beat
with the rhythm of taiko drums
urgent yet peaceful
reassured in their consistency
every touch flattering
and flirting with danger
of the possibility of us
whispering longing dreams
through the haze of sleep

i wish for the future
of when we no longer need
to dance around one another
when we finally embrace
with no fear for the future
when i can hold your hand in mine
and peacefully drift off to sleep
with only dreams of happiness
and your heart beating close to mine

wait for me,
just a little longer
my dreams lie with you
and my future as well
Grand Piano
Step 1: Get out of bed
Step 2: Look in the mirror
Step 3: Practice your smile
Step 4: Eyedrops to hide the red eyes
Step 5: Conceal the dark circles
Step 6: Breathe
The curtains are almost up
Step 7: Lock down the pain
Step 8: Ignore the weight on your chest
Step 9: Silence the screams inside of your mind
Step 10: Choke down the sobs in your throat
Step 11: Ignore the stinging in your eyes
Step 12: Swallow past the tightness in your throat
You’ve put on this show a million times
Step 13: Don’t let them see
Times up. Curtains up. Camera rolling
You know how when you’re not ok but you try so hard to pretend you’re ok that it becomes a ritual
Judiel Flores
Sa dinami-dami ng mga palpak sa mundo,
Bakit laging kabataan ang napapansin niyo?
Dahil ba sabi ni Rizal
"Ang kabataan ang pag-asa ng bayan?"

Hindi ba dahil sa pagpuna niyo
At pangiinsulto niyo kaya dumadami kami?
Oo kami,
Kaming mga palpak at puro walang patutunguhan sa mundo

Nabuntis sa maagang edad
Nagbisyo sa hindi pa tamang panahon
Mas inuuna ang pangarap kaysa pag-aaral
Tambay doon, tambay dito

Hindi niyo ba napapansin?
Dumadami na kami,
Hindi dahil sa gusto lang namin
Kundi dahil alam naman naming wala nang maniniwala samin

Nahihirapan rin kami
Hindi lang kayo,
Sa tingin ko hindi lang kaming mga bata, dalaga o binata
Ang kabataan sa mundo

Lahat tayo kabataan dito
Lahat tayo ginawa ng Diyos
Kaya nagtataka ako bakit laging kabataan ang paos
At ang kabataan ang laging wala sa mundo

Sa lahat ng panghuhusgang nakukuha namin
Galing sa mga magulang at mga taong hindi naman malapit saamin
Alam ko, at naniniwala pa rin ako
Na lahat tayo ay iisa at kaming kabataan pa rin ang magpapatunay na nasa amin ang pag-asa
We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Please don't ever become a stranger,
whose laugh I can recognize anywhere.
she no longer wakes up in the morning
to look in the mirror and try to
convince herself and the world
that she's still a girl

they stopped waking up in the morning and looking in the mirror trying to convince . .
no prove that they're identity
isn't up for debate

he started waking up in the morning
to look at himself in the mirror to try to convince . .
no prove . .
no reassure himself that he is
exactly who he says

i wake up every morning and
I go to the mirror and try to convince . .
no prove . .
no reassure . .
no state that I am
a man and nobody can say otherwise
I have a dark, slithering thing
it lives in me
curled up in the cavity
just above my stomach
it only awakes
to eat and destroy
feasting on my emotions
and destroying my self-confidence
as my other emotions are slowly dying
to where I cannot feel them anymore
the dark, slithering beast
gives me one emotion
it is the only emotion
I turn jealous and hateful
unable to smile with the beast showing me
how everyone is so much better
it hisses to me:
your best friend is funnier and nicer
your girlfriend more talented and pretty
they will turn away eventually
for you have no good qualities

I can’t bear to hurt anyone
so I turn to isolation
the great, slithering beast turns on me
and from the inside out
tears me to shreds
Everyone I love is so much better than me, and I dread the day they realize I’m nothing compared to them, and finally leave me
A big fat nobody
Shadows Darken around me
Silence seeps from my mind
casting a shroud that none see
a sort of prison that only I feel,
and I'm so numb, feeling dumb.

Sort of glad to be here, it's surreal
a prism of light hidden for a time
sublime pleasure, and I feel it all
Just don't miss the vein, say again?

It will all be ok in the end....
Valsa George
Sometime after mid night, it had rained
Putting out summer’s sultry heat
The sky had its face washed clean
And wiped the grime off Earth’s soiled feet

The dawn is quietly breaking
Night lights still glimmer here and there
The blue firmament remains cloudless
And cool is the mild blowing air

The sleeping town is slowly waking up
And at this transitional point
I look out into the street
To see a sight that shall never disappoint

Along the road moves one, ragged and withered
His discolored white hair left unkempt
With hunch back and drooping shoulders
The marks Time has left of the hard years spent

Though age has drained his life sap away
He has a firm resolve never to beg
His frail body supported on a stick
Serves as a veritable third leg

With his staff, he perseveringly stirs
Every heap of abandoned rubbish
Indiscriminately piled on either side of the road
Hunting for trinkets lying hidden in the trash

A rag picker with a sack on his back
Picking up today’s treasure
From yesterday’s discarded trash
Things, for him ‘priceless’ beyond measure

With complaints none
He faces life and its trials
Never losing the glitter in his eyes
Though a loner in life’s dark isles

I ask myself, why every day
I routinely look for this man who limps along
And I get a quick answer
‘He helps you turn your sobs into a song’
This was a ritual the old man religiously followed every morning..... making me reminded of the leech gatherer in Wordsworth's Resolution and Independence. He was a great inspiration for me!
Lyka Mosca
That person wants to make people happy
But that person is not.

How did the God created a world
When he does not have at first.

How does a road end
And where did it start

That person's questions
Have no answers

As to why that person lives
Or why that person hates to live

Hates to leave
Yet wants to be alone

The surroundings and being surrounded
Is cruel in all possible ways
emmie cosgrove
I saw you smile at someone else

The same way you smiled at me-

When you locked your fingers into mine

And broke the silence with “I love you”-

I guess I should just try and be happy, as we are no more

That you’ve found someone else to give away

Your “I love you’ too
We are the ones who are hard to understand
We'll be the last ones in the movie theatre
because the ending scene made us cry
We'll stop to smell the roses
because they deserve to be appreciated
We are the ones who will take the time
to get to know what keeps you up at night
We are the ones who will imagine
an entire future of adventures
with the people who show us love

We are the ones who will love you more
than we love ourselves sometimes
We will give you our strongest parts
in hopes that we can make things better
We desire to see you become the best you
to make sure that you always feel our love
We crave affection and appreciation
We give a piece of ourselves away every day
sometimes to people who don't deserve it
Our love is easy to take advantage of
and sometimes we don't get back
the love that we give away

When we hurt, we crumble and fall apart
We constantly have to put ourselves back together
We are more fragile than we like to give off
We carry our emotions on our sleeves
Our flaws have the ability to consume us
We aren't afraid to give you the world
but we are afraid to feel unloved
We want you to see what we see
We want you to understand where we're coming from

We are good people with good intentions
We are stronger than we look like
Not everyone can feel the way we feel
We feel too much, too often
We are not hard to love
We are something not everyone knows how to love
But you need to remember that
your worth does not change just because
no one is there to appreciate you, to remind you

You are not any less lovable
You are the most lovable person in the world
You are a light that the world needs
Your kindness is not your weakness
You do not need to change for anyone's acceptance
You do not need to stop giving love
just because you don't get any back
Your heart is the best thing about you

And one day when you least expect it
someone will notice you from across the room
and know exactly how to love you
They will think all of these things are beautiful
They will deserve the love you can give
They will fill the empty space in your heart
But for now, don't stop feeling
We are the ones who feel everything so deeply
We are the ones who can't give up because
We are the ones who will teach the world
how to love
We are exactly who we are supposed to be
Adam Essop
5h30: First Alarm. Snooze. Urgh.                 Bed.

7h00: Awake. Running late.                          Hustle.

Traffic selfie. To long distance friends.       Smile.

Work. Cheeky wink from work wife.        "You look great"

12h00: Lunch. Rooftop Carpark                   The View.

17h30: Late afternoon coffee. Gym.             Motivated.

19h30: Home. Dinner.                                    Stuffed.

22h00: Bed.        Find something to be         Grateful             for.
Let my heartbeat sync
To the rhythm of your song

Let’s relieve the friction
In this much needed interaction

Let us forget all the rules
Let’s stick to what we believe in

You can have my heart
If I let you to be real

Let your smile know
No formalities
Let your speech engage me
Like a miracle

Let me hear
Your eyes speak
When you don't

Let this mean something
Even if it doesn't seem to be

I am letting you know now
You are more
More than a chapter

Just be what you occur
To me
Be my one.
CA Smith
A house is built
The house becomes a home
The home turns into memories
The memories turn into people
The people turn into stories
Stories turn into legends
History is changed
Lives are changed
Love is spread
One Love
Bricks are purchased
That build houses
That turn into homes
That create memories
That turn into people
That turn into stories
That turn into legends
That change history
And it all started with
Just. One. Brick.
Sometimes it's tough when you are just laying bricks to see the end picture, but it makes a difference in the end! It can be so easy at times to feel like we aren't doing enough to help others or to grow ourselves, but one ripple affects the entire pond.
i only see you at night
when i close my eyes
and enter a place only
you and i can
where time bends
and where there's
a shift between what's
real and what's not
we fuse together
and its only when i
open my eyes
when a bright auora
shines over me
where i have to wait
till nightfall
to see you once more
Kiersten Stewart
My entire life feels like
A boring episode
In a boring TV show
On a boring TV
In a boring house
That boring people are watching
On a boring couch
That's a boring color
How boring
my hands have never moved
along the
l  e  n  g  t  h  (of his)
spine and i
don't know what it is to be kissed.

i don't dance in his arms
or write him letters with my lips  
we don't sit in heart-pounding silence
our tangled feet, tangled together.

i love him,
but i don't know who he is
(and i)
have never
been in l o v e.
where r u . darling?
through the
Humbling Portal
of these
Hallowed Pages
you'll find

Hesitant Plunges
both by new
and "older"
Honored Poets

Harmonious Palettes
to create
Haunting Pictures
sometimes giving a
Heavenward Peek

Hypnotic Potpourri
Heady Perfume
Happy Poison

Hapless Pixies
Hopeful Prophets
Hunt Pearls
Hold Parades

that result in
Holy Pandemonium

within our reach are
Homegrown Peaches
Hanging Pome
for our
Hungry Prowling

as we read
tales of
Heartless Paramours
Hissing Pit-vipers
who gave
Half Promises

we decipher
Humorous Puzzles
Hardest Perplexities
based on
Hysterical Pretexts
until our eyes see only
Haphazard Pixels
on the screen

and in a
Helpless Panic
we quickly read
the notes
Hasty Postlude#
Drew Blanton
Normal is you.
Normal is me.
Normal is everybody.
Normal is everything.
Hillary B
a home
is more than just walls

it requires a solid foundation
level ground
away from riverbanks
far from fault lines  
a safe place

once a strong foundation is laid
the walls will grow tall

walls build up quickly
one must tear them down
build doors
allow others in
homes aren't completely self reliant

next is the windows
punch those out
never lose sight of what's outside
if anything
just buy blinds

add additional protection
a roof

in a couple of years
repaint the walls
level the floors
patch the roof

without preservation
this home will crumble
with it
Mary McCray
(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 21, 2018)

Someone I liked was throwing a party that year
and we didn’t go.
We went to the Central West End instead,
to an all-night diner.
It felt fateful and good
and we were inseparable after that
all through college,
watching horror movies on VHS,
adopting our dogs, Ariel and Helga.
We dreamed of being cultured
and nesting. We made shrinky dinks
and Easy Bake Oven cakes
long after it was age appropriate.
We watched MTV all night long,
waiting for our favorite singers—

you waiting for mine,
me waiting for yours.

We walked through a Chicago snowstorm
and survived a tornado in Forest Park.
I thought we would be friends forever,
through all the rites of passage.
We were like some combination
of Annie and Lillian
except we never reconciled.
And now when I hear the radio
play Howard Jones
or someone mentions Hellraiser
or I run into a memory
with someone we knew,
in all the backwards glances
I can’t decide if it was the moving away
or something felt long before I left.

Where do these gaps come from,
like black holes in the fabric?

You gave me your Renoir print,
“Dance in the Country,
and I’ve kept it in my bedroom
for over twenty years.
The New Mexico sun has turned
it’s consoling reds and blues
to desolated, faded greens.

It’s my heart’s quiet hoarding
that even now
I don’t want to let it go.
These poems for NaPoWriMo were inspired by a poem I did years ago for my friend Michelle after hearing she passed away, 30 poems for inspiring women connected to me. The title now says "33 Women" because the poem to Michelle poem had already been written as well as two prologues I posted March 31.
See Lisa here! www.marymccray.com/33-women.html#lisa-nellie
Zach Rourke
from sunken beds
chosen shoes walk
their morning interrogation
under impatient sun
past vagrant coin rattle
through tired beaten doors
for bad coffee
and full rooms of empty smiles
in static exchange

an exhausted kind word
wrung from apologetic clouds
one cold ray of beauty
the warm look
in the gravity of open arms
a bird is heard
in reluctant mystery
and all the beating hearts receive
alms for the immaculate
Nat Lipstadt
one more for t.m.

her given name is not woman
but human of the feminine,
the fem in the human mine,

12:10am 4/16/17
Mister Granger
I know why the caged bird sings.

It's not because his song
is as vibrant
as his feathers, that he plucks away
each day because he doesn't
feel beautiful.

It's not because of the majesty
that exist in the freedom
of being able to spread his wings
though he knows
he'll never rise to the occasion.

He sings because he believes
that this cage
was made for a king
because he has never tasted
freedom with a side order of skies.

He's never flown past the sun
on a cool morning
or hung with the moon
on a warm night.

He's only ever known
the comfort of a prison
that his thoughts have
become accustomed
to calling home.

He would never venture
beyond the "welcome" mat
because what's beyond the threshold
holds no promise
the way these bars and metal locks do.

He sings because he knows
that no one is listening
so if he makes a mistake
he doesn't have to live with the regret
or embarrassment of knowing that he missed his note.

The caged bird
never believes that he's caged
because behind these walls
he's safe
and he prefers it this way.

I know why the caged bird sings.
A twist on a title by one of my favorite authors...
Jack P
no man's land:
a healthy dose of could-be-worse
for the idiot who equates
the quotidian
to the epicenter of a war.

a special place in hell
for people
who ask for advice
that they can toss
over their shoulder
like a dying cigarette:
instant, capricious gratification.
in hindsight, he shouldn't have cared
for what his friends thought.

like me, perfect role model:
as in control as a truck with faulty brakes
as much fun as falling asleep at a wake
as resilient as a fibreglass dream.

sees the situation that awaits
around the corner
in the alley
that pulses with pathetic light.

"i wish my skin was as thick as my skull"
and immediately, immovably, refuses to change.
i kicked a boy and i liked it
Ilion gray
I have wondered as the hours went passing...
while the rain was dripping slowly off the drifting clouds,
the shoulders of heaven,
and lightning was dancing unaware,
across frozen mountain tops
..what must your voice sound like..? How soft, subtle,
As a child's first step, how lasting, indelible,
like the wind, unseen
Sun streaming through the window,
the shadows of my fingers dance on your face, lying on the pillow.
You reach up and kiss my fingertips,
a promise lingers on your lips.

But you’re silent.

I press my hands to your face,
trying to coax it from its hidden place.

But you’re silent.

Now the shadows of my fingers lie on the empty space,
Without a trace.

And it’s silent.
hell is a place where
you constantly love those that
do not love you back.
Sally A Bayan

Time is not flying
the evening hours are so slow, inching by
and spent tossing and turning
my restless mind roams dark avenues
my restless feet roam the bed,
left...right...then back, over and over.
the bed, that was my hammock....no longer sways
a promise of peaceful slumber, flies away,
new and strange images
start to trail me...they're heavy tassels,
tagging on the  hemlines of my mind,
seeking to connect...to be known
this late hour, i recall
a forked road, not far from a winding road,
from afar, a child admires a white castle
high as the clouds, its windows, foggy,
its high fence, mossy...on its front lawn
is a treehouse, perched...resting like a bird
inside a very old tree, leaning to its left side,
with a long set of steps...all painted white.
just below the white steps are gathered,
doyens of poetry...seated in their own chosen
corners...tacit, yet, empowered by their brilliant minds
the tips of their feathered pens, smoothly sliding on
paper......strange, that they're waving at me,
why, they could be dead!
i must be dreaming...my muse is showing
me paths, i would think twice of treading
a quartered moon selfishly glows
unsettles even more, my murky thoughts...
yet....my pressing thumb is on my journals
i must heed.........the need.
"o' my elusive unknown poem,
kindly show me...lead me to your home
let my pen give light to your dim path
give second wind to my weary mind and heart,
deny, even a bit of a space......for wrath,

help me, push me...my efforts musn't cease
show me your face...we'll both have peace."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 21, 2018
...started with a dream.....then scribbled...and scribbled...
I don't know if there is any sense in all these...pardon me, guys...
the sun drips
yellow yolk

the gold knots
of my spine
breathe the first of Spring days
the radio plays our favorite song

i see you backwards
all the times we had

the sky is blue, the lake is blue
your eyes are blu
and they say i look like your
oh gods. help me
i can’t feel anything
except you
and everything here is you
Stefan Smith
depression depression depression

Stop it.


I is me and
you are you.
Seperate from identity
yet your lies root to my core.
I can't help but listen as
gravity gradually seems heavier

You can feed on me
that's fine.
Distort my reality
and take my smile.
But you will never take my hope.

The endless source behind the
Of my soul.
You'll never cease the
I in me.

So form each woe,
but forever is my soul.
Endureth this universe.

Go ahead.

Take me.

depression depression depression
The Unsung Song
I am falling to the depths of which none can recover.
I am falling below the state of the human soul.

I have become something no one understands.
I have become something hideous, and horrid.

I am failing to understand the world and
I am failing to understand myself.

I hate myself and
I hate my surroundings.

I am full of this depreciating nonsense.
I don't know where it comes from,
but my head swims in it.
I choose what to say,
as if every word might be my last.
But every thought that I have,
is destroying my will to live.

that was incorrect.

It already has destroyed my will to live.
I have wanted to say goodbye to the world for so long, but something deep down is making me stay and I hate it.
I can no longer hide
My soul ignited

once disparaged
I long to share it

The chills in my spine put into words

Lips on skin
Eyes filled with sin

What is this sensation

I drip colors you cannot see

Heightening my passion
Enhancing my touch

Raw emotion channeled as such

My desire aches
The color of flush
My cage breaks
Expressions of lust

I do not fear it
I can hear you blush

My favorite sound

Our souls combust
My restless soul longs for something fulfilling
Skia A
Even the planets aren't perfectly aligned,
How can you expect yourself to be?

Being in pieces doesn't make you any less beautiful.
2 AM thoughts.
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