When I think of a love story
I can not help but to think about you
and us.
I think about those moments of uncaptured life and beauty.
Moments the world will never know.
When I think of a love story,
I think about the way our eyes communicate in ways our mouths sometimes can’t.
I think of how our hands fit together so nicely,
like the missing pieces to a puzzle.
I think about how bold this love is.
It isn’t something we have to look for in the fine print,
and this is not just about the chapters that speak of the butterflies that sit in the mystical garden you have planted inside me.
It’s every line that reminds me of the peace your presence brings.
In a world of noise and distortion,
I find peace and clarity with you.
When I think of a love story,
I can not fail to think of this love.
A love so beautiful even hollywoods finest cannot picture.
A story so good that as the pages flip I can not help but pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

Before i met you i felt like my world was going to fall apart and i was going to drown in my own self destruction but then you came and made everything alright and the first time you held my hand i felt a heat wave swarm through my body and the first time i walked into that room and spotted your beautiful face my lungs started shaking and my hands were sweating and you were the most perfect thing i've ever seen in my life and when we first kissed i was oblivious to everything around me because the only thing i wanted to focus on was you and i wish i could hold your hand every second of every day and the fact that i have you is the only thing making me feel sane.
-EG

i wanna write her a love song
but i am useless in her gaze
her eyes light up my very soul
and i get lost within the haze

i wanna make her immortal
though i am putty in her hands
i cannot sculpt a single curve
and i am melting where she stands

i wanna be her forever
but time is on her side
and if i managed to wait her out
i'm not the first who tried

i wanna put her in paintings
with colors bright and real
but i am not a painter
and can't make the canvas feel

i wanna taste from her soul
and drink her essence down
but there are finer wines on earth
and i'm not the best around

I will let you slowly ruin me until there's nothing left but a pile of dust that faintly smells like me
You won't recognize me in the streets because I will become something so broken that I blend in with the sidewalks
I suppose you will lock me up like the good liquor and take me out when you please and I will be grateful when you reach for another cup of me because you will have craved my taste
You are not a fair fight
You can hurt me without even being arms length away
I never looked good in black and blue but it seems those are my hearts new favorite colors
I was taught to fight at a young age
Taught to always keep myself protected but when you come around I forget everything about the past everything that I have suffered to learn
Like run before you hide and do not drink your feelings and never give someone all of you- they will always leave you unrecognizable

my heart accepted defeat long before the light had left my home
and to know of satans sorrow was a truth that made the smallest smile i could summon a monumental victory.
alone with the ever slowing beats of my heart now completely unable to keep track of days and nights.
against the blood red sky, time began to lose all intuitive wisdom.
and with the ******* of space and time came distortion.
ghouls and ghost became party guests
the foul sorts of scaly serpents and winged apparitions had gathered in rows of perfect stillness like marble chess pieces standing guard. they seemed now like great guardians of my fragile spirit.
losing hope in the home of horror
that scarlet sky now began to sound its final “hurah” before the life was to forsake this place. and so it stretched out its smoky hands like raven wings draping darkness over the horizon destroying the last light of what i once knew.
And within was me, accustomed to the demons devilish dance, a prisoner with no will to leave, or any power to see beyond the tomb that felt like the only thrown i was to belong too.

years have passed this way, littered with tragic happenenings, broken relationships, addictions, and loss.

Now as if by some sort of divine intervention i can feel the dry dead air come alive. the blood drenched sky has almost stopped shrieking and as i raise my head in relief the horizon burst into brilliant trails of flame emitting hypnotic hues of purple and blue. crackling against the dead air like gun powder a blaze

and in the swell of confusion a sort of panic gives birth to momentum giving way now to a frequency with holy resonance, that fills my flask with potent tonic, upon drinking it i begin driving fire back into the abandoned forges of my humanity. from the depths of self denial i will emerge without the shackles of self deception to bind me, and from the grace of gods design i know now i am forgiven.

She was a dreamer who lived in
an insomniac world. Nothing came easy....
every time she tried to begin,
she would stumble and fall, but that
didn’t stop her. Although she thought
differently...her will could withstand anything thrown in her way, just another challenge fought.
The past haunted her days, shadowing almost every move…every single breath. Time always promised to make things better, but she knew better than to find
truth in those words. Truth lay somewhere
far from where she had ever let herself dream, too heavy from all the weight she carried.
There was only one time she let herself lean…letting her weight get the best of her, thinking she could find a way to dream peacefully forever, but even then she failed to succeed.
She lost the ability to hold her world together.
Indifferent to the world, numb to all
emotion, she lost hope in being set free.
The darkness surrounding so great; faith too small.
So she poured her pent up pain,
into artful master pieces.
She sketched abstract obscurities that depicted her darkest of secrets.
She painted intangible thoughts and feelings she longed to be fulfilled with majestic words that put anyone who dared to read, in the footsteps of her soul. Broken and blue she crafted old warn memories into the picturesque landscapes of her wildest dreams. She elegantly danced with the monsters under her bed and gracefully with the skeletons in her closet… breaking free.

my skin was once a clear canvas, with beautiful thoughts, ideas, and creations but as my mind grew darker into the nights
i cried alone and I started to think about the endless possibilities,
i started to realize that my life was just an illusion and in reality we're all just broken, alone, and looking for someone to fix us.
but no one could fix me; i couldn't even fix myself
so i picked up that blade and started to draw pictures on that canvas
that was once so beautiful
and i didn't stop.
now it is now filled
with tragic pictures
from the nights
i understood life
at it's worst