Tattoo your passion onto my tongue

Give me something to talk about

Brand the heart in your chest

Into my fingertips

So I can write about love

Implant your smile to my eyelids

Then I will dream of reasons to wake

The same alternative track plays on loop
I haven't gotten that sick of it yet
luckily.

You got sick of me
however
and here I am still stumbling across songs
looking for some sort of answer to why you left

I keep getting stuck on the same one
oddly enough it paints a picture of
well
us
or what used to be us
and then suddenly disappeared.

I am broken
like a scratched record.
I hurt and I stutter and skip and I have no idea where I am or where you went to.

But now you're gone
and
your soundtrack still lingers.

Thank God*

        For

     *Humility,

             without
                    it

            I would
        be

             Proud.

There's an ice storm in my brain,
        my thoughts
                     are sliding
                out of control,
         there's a fire in my chest,
                        making ashes
          of what's left of
                     my soul.

Love* tastes like beauty, devotion and affection, rolled into a wafer together.

Love is the beauty of the vain, lone rose of the wild,
fading on the skin of your arms like a lotion.

Love is the devotion of watery jasmine and apples,
running smoothly down the back of your throat.

Love is the affection of thick, chocolatey hazelnuts,
dying so they can remain for everafter on the tip of your tongue.

the sweet, smoky taste of Love rubs in your limbs and your veins
until it is one with your blood and is the only thing you feel.

You devour Love, but it consumes you.