What happens when you see blood stains on one of my pages?
...of  heart that I broke that still curses my dreams.
The feeling is gone-
                               I tore the page away.
Can't you see I sold my soul to vanity?
Angels burnt the pages I had scripted the **** part of me.
Stop reading my eyes-
My iris are torn pages of unmemdable separation.

Sobriety is hurt...
Washin' away with evey drop into my soul,
I have seen your face and the memories of us in the dark sparkle of my whiskey.
So I keep drinking...
These sips draw a shelter of your face beneath my eyes.
In bounds outside sobriety lies peace.
And...
My lady love...
It's the only place I find You,

"Bend the knee", they whisper.
Their command is a secret to a magic show whose tricks I have known.
I have seen life unfold in truths I have read; "Gods will be gods".
Placed a hunger for eternity in man...
They have wiped out best laid plans in vanity.
Tossed of us in immortality...
Whole they get drunk in being worshipped.

Are you living life…
Or simply watching
Do you know the difference?
Between shadows in your light,
And silhouettes in your darkness.
Are you able to draw the line?
Between lips kissed and virgins     loved gently
-and mere fantasy?
Nasilla-
Every morning I know- I may not last the day
In evenings, I may not last the night.
While my heartbeat lasts-
         Kiss me.

It's easy to reconnect with ones you love, right?
Not when love hates and hurts you.
And you become a walking pained reject...
But where in the world can you run from pain?
Where memories won't haunt your dreams.
Is there a freedom day from shadows across your shoulders?
The day you decide to pull your heart outta your chest...
And throw it away -
                                   ...that's when.

A pressure between us thirsts for each other's lips.
Softly hunts the hot desires under our skins.
Between squeezed sheets we whisper silently.
Tongue strokes
.... Limbs locked
.........fists clenched.
Through the sparkle of our sweat we know;
The walls have contortioned meanings of our stray low pantings.
Gently we tremble in pleasure....
........and settle in sweet weakness.

Why should a sun dictate
What we see and what we don’t?
Are we that insecure
That we have to pay
For our passion
To be seen?