Love is a mysterious thing. It can have you love something so much about a person that you'd never had loved otherwise. For me, It's the way she crinkles her nose when she tries not to smile, Or the way she unconsciously drools on my chest when we're laying together. It's honestly the most beautiful thing in the world and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Suicide, Suicide be my guide. Show me if its time. In my room. These retched cries. Hear me scream, hear me cry. My thoughts that torture me. The ones I hide. Tattooed on my arms. The scars of a thousand knives. My tears have finally run dry. As I cry, on this silent night. Suicide, Suicide. be my guide. Show me if its time. To stay or to die.
It was like running in the summer rain. No matter how hard it poured. You couldn't help but stop. And dance. Let her soak you to the bone. Leave you cold.
How did the Greek Pundit mark The middle of a storyline If time, space, and self are handmade, If language is borderline, If a lover knows not what love is, And if a poem’s writer is its first line?