As we exchange gentle kisses;
             our bodies engage
             lips graze her ribcage
             her heart enclaves
             and her chest caves
             unto a soul encaged
             beating with passion
             and fueled by rage
              it's more than just lust
              it's the Passion we exchange.

Hot as Fire
cold as ice
she encapsule
a chapel
of heaven
and hell
her universe
well versed;
                    I dwelled.

The thought alone;
    the naughty idea
    of pressing my mouth
    against her pink lips
    persuading me to
    persuade her to blush.

Despair and grief are buddies,
always hanging out together.
Grief is despair's wingman.
Together they always score.
Grief sets despair up.
Despair closes the deal.
Best best friends forever
at the club of how we feel.

Imagine you've been tortured,
ridiculed, hated by the masses.
As you bleed to death on top of a hill,
another tortured soul asks you
for forgiveness for his sins.
The man did nothing to you,
but he feels the need to confess.
Writhing in pain, you want to die,
if only to end your own torment.
But instead, you listen to the man,
and you grant him your truest love, forgiveness.
You tell him he will soon be in paradise
with you, and you ******* mean it.
That's why some of us have faith
and we fight for the poor,
the marginalized, the despised.
They can **** us, as they so often do,
but they will never win.