I never mastered the grind.
That won every girls affection.
I guess it's really quite difficult.
When you become your own deflection.

Once I was that nineteen year old.
Drunk and disorderly.
Grinding on your back.
You got bored of me.

Sure its fun - for both it seems.
Sometimes it's a horrid match.
A silly game with an undefined winner.
Sometimes it's all you need to land your catch.

But as you grow you see things clearly.
The smoke machined air thins and the lights begin to brighten.
You see the complexity of your dilemma.
You've assumed you'd get it all - what a great big error.

You want the beauty you've desired night long.
But you've gone about it all wrong.
You want the companion most never find.
But will she see it or remain blind.

It seems one is possible.

Where do I go to be one whole person?

Whilst in mine death
I want mine queen
To smother mine lip's
With her's;
And taketh
Mine last breathe.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©あある じぇえん

The way he looks at me,
with magnificence and praise
Slices my heart to bleed
in hopes that,
May his love
looks at me
the same way
his lusts do.

But the truth is:
While his eyes worship me,
His heart sees me as nobody.

- qyf

sleep has become a boring chore,
another thing I would rather not do.
I'd rather have the moonlight rap me in his dainty arms,
then feel the cold lack of presence.
but that too is long a distance,
far, out of sight in plain view.
we may claim to be a strong,
but the arms of another melt soul into stillness,
the stillness of a lake perfect for skipping stones.
my heart craves a partner for the dance of the bed,
***, no.
for love, a much slower dance.
for the soft touch of our noses,
the shallow breath on our flesh,
our eyes,
will devour us whole,
and that's quite alright.
for when your skin is so soft and you slip through my arms and melt into my chest,
I will be so happy.
I will finally sleep,
knowing I will see you in the morning.