I get it, we all have demons, but why is it that yours only taunt me?
Why is it that you have to insist on being difficult with me when I’m completely open with you?
Why is it that you always say that I do something, but that same thing you say I do is being done?
Honestly, you’re just wasting your pride.

Take me to the place where lovers play.
Where the word love is on the tongue of each person who passes by and the jitters of emotion break us down and build us as twin towers of faith and infatuation.
Roll me down a river of finality, telling me sweet things in order to keep me close to you with little lies that make me love you.
Show me the tip of time and take me past it. Let me now that I’m a possibility for forever and that I’m forever going to be close to you. Show me that I’m wanted, that I’m needed, and you don’t want to change that.
Kiss my lips with sincerity and whisper your thanks to the lord into my ear with a seductive air. Because your voice is so beautiful and your lips so sweet that you take me back to times when we first courted, times when the deepness of our love was judged on how many tics the clock made when the phones were on.
Take me to the most sensible form of tenderness and let me teach you how to surpass it. For the threat of love is my only danger, and I remedy the fears pragmatically.
Is it ok to admit I’m in love? Tell me now, because I’ve been burned before. I’ve had the knives of deceit stab my heart before, and I didn’t like it. So Let me know how far our love can go before I need to jump ship.
Tingle my soul and make me shiver with the electricity generated by your feminine touch. You always start the wonder every time our skins connect.
Take me on a journey that sends me into Neverland with you by my side. I could care less where we go, so long as we are together, it won’t register which direction I’m walking in. show me that pretty smile and tell me it won’t matter to you either. Take my hands and lean in close to me, catch a breath and let it out slow just staring in my eyes.
And I will know where to take us.
You take me to the place where lovers play.
The little bit of space where time doesn’t agree with its surroundings, the place where we could stay an eternity just thinking about how we could spend our time together.
Lover’s land.

My skin is soft and my mind unexperienced.
Like cotton right off the stem.
And when animosity hits it, I tend to be unprepared for such topics.

My body goes through constant cycles of supposed purification
Like the separation of the cotton from its seed and the bleaching of its fruit.
So when I realize my impurity, I tend to reject myself. For I feel that others would anyways.

My blood runs through my organs, and is altered in my heart
Like cotton being twisted to threads.
I crystalize like cane sugar as it drips off its heat made daggers, and I crush to dust under the weight of every decision that I make.

She had me on the brink of chastity
Addicted to honeyed lips and cinnamon spiced ***.
She had my mind on the brink of loyalty
Enslaved to her body and chained to her commands like the loyal hound curled at her pretty red toes.
She had my body on the brink of chaos
For once I wasn’t able to touch her, I was able to realize how different we truly were, but it bugged me enough to form a need of confirmation through alleged ****** connections.
She had me on the brink of love
No, I never would admit it, but I was hoping with all my heart that she and I would never separate, and I guess that was my mistake.

Maybe I can now be at peace with my decision to leave her alone, but now my body aches from what I was trying to form, a bridge burned on the receiving end and yet I still tried to build with the girl who torched it in the first place.
Oh How Naïve Our Heart Can Make Us

The brightness of my teeth should show my self-consciousness.
As even with the best I can do, to me they burn.

The size of my shirt should show that I have big places to fill.
As I’m swallowed by the knowledge of future responsibilities.

The way I speak should show my truthfulness.
For If I lie, I can’t do it without stuttering, and I hate how my voice rises when I do it.

The smoothness of my lips should show my inexperience.
As I’ve never kissed before, so they stay soft in an attempt to hush my mind of its fears of never feeling the connection of locking lips.

I’m an easy read like Level-one books, and you know this.
But yet you still look through my soul and criticize me for intentions you know **** well I don’t have.

The feeling of falseness in the eyes of spectators is so apparent that it makes her feel like decoration flowers.
Petals glistening with passive aggression as a feature rather than a flaw.
Stiff neck as a stem that never shrinks and always flaunts the tantalizing sensitivity of her femininity.
Sensuous skirt that wraps around **** legs like two grassy leaves wrapping around a sassy stem.
Like a rose, she doesn’t respect time. She is beautiful and wants everyone to know it.
But she knows it’s only a face, she knows everything that everyone finds beautiful will wilt away and she won’t be so pretty anymore
She knows that her delicate red will grow older and that her body will shrivel. So she replaces it with more false faces. Plastic pieces perpetrating personality. She is no longer a rose.
She is a decoration. For though she holds onto it, her beauty has respectively faded.
As she is no longer true.
She has kept the rosy figure, but the ***** of her life has faded.
And that which was beautiful will never be beautiful again.
For nobody wants a dusty rose.

Single relationship

I told myself that I’d be a complete social chameleon, said I wouldn’t let anyone dictate what I liked.
Turns out they were both lies.
I told myself that I’d love me more than anyone else ever could, I said that my strength would be what ran my environment.
Guess that wasn’t to be.

I itch for a relation but run from relationships.
And I hate it so much that it burns like copper coils.
It invades my lungs like air
and breaks me down like bad *** kids near cardboard boxes.

But for some reason I identify with it now, it’s like, I’m intimate with loneliness.
I can caress its jagged edged emptiness with the warmth of my fingertips at any given day, and it always responds.
I can speak into its bitter silence and feel the echoes reverberate back to my lonesome ears, and it feels like I’m hearing someone else with my voice.
I can kiss its luscious darkness and combine with it anytime imaginable, and it makes me feel loved by simply everything.

You can call it a wish. You can call it imagination or depression.
But regardless of what you think, I’m in a single relation.
And I hold hands with it proudly.

She explained it to me, told me all that she could about it and how she hated it.
Tears were in her eyes as she explained the pain she felt from the heartbreaking.
Her nose nearly ran and she sniffled as she cried in my arms, nuzzled under my chin, her shaking form nearly as cold as ice.
Her heart was once her own, her love was once brought only to the those who she deemed worthy, but that one person, that one human, made her empirical mind crash to the ground, ****** on by the rains of gloating hypocrisy. She is a shell and a mind of active saddened anger.
But she always forgets
that I know it better than she does

Yet again I sit on the cold floor, in the dark
And I fill my head in darkness.

But I’m at peace with the loneliness.
In fact it fuels me, gassing me like cars before a long journey into the abyss of loneliness.

And I think it’s time I hit the road.

I think you refuse me simply because I don’t give you any reasons to.
I told you I didn’t care about your past or about your afflictions
I told you that I would accept your flaws and show you love because of them.
I told you that I would respect you unlike anyone who you’ve known.

And yet now I’m the imperfectd counterpart of whom can’t receive love.

I guess I’m oxymoronic.
Because I’m so eager to accept the flaws of people who won’t accept mine.

Blood’s on your lips as you stare into my soul.
What is it you see?

You see a victim.
I can see the carnivorous beast in you and the predator gnashing her teeth at her prey, sending the scent of adrenaline through the air and intimating with the fragrance of potential gratification.

But I am helpless as my ears flick like a helpless doe.
You stalk your pray with ***** glances and sweet smiles from across expansions of room, waiting for the perfect moment to lunge in for the ****.
Finding it, you come closer and let me know my vulnerability with only one word.

Hi
And the rest is history
Little did the prey know that he was the hunted. Our bodies twisted and bent in such ways of pleasurous escape that I don’t realize.
I’m trapped.
Nibble on my neck like a predator crushes a windpipe.
Lick your lips like a satisfied wolf and let me know who my ender is.
Spread yourself over me and don’t let me escape, grip me like you’ll never satisfy again.

And then leave.
The predator has been satisfied, the prey left to the vultures.
How can she play with so many souls and feel no remorse? How can she turn such innocence without the slightest thought of disturbance?
One must keep his lust and his love as separate entities, for if you confuse the two, you might become a victim.


Man-eater

Hush….. can you hear that?
It’s my heartbeats every time she comes close.
I wonder if she can hear it when she passes. I wonder if anyone else can.
When she’s close by, I sense it, I sense an impending nervousness and the calm as we talk.
I wonder can she feel it too.

It’s just something about the way she moves, something about the little details of everything about her, she has me mesmerized whenever our eyes match. Hard to imagine the images that appear in my mind when our eyes lock, and I always see her. When they replay in my memory, I understand. For only angels can wear halos.
I wonder what she sees.

There’s something in the air that makes each word she makes as palatable as ginger ale. Her voice is so mellifluous that it makes my spirit hunger for emotional stimulation. I imagine long talks in sunset milieus. I imagine deeper conversations that I rarely have anymore and crippling displays of imaginative love that I’m not even sure I’d be able to provide. But with every thought, the air gets sweeter with released thoughts.
I wonder if she tastes it too.

Green apple goddess, cherry cheeks of cherished charms, her flavors speak of delicious intimacy. We constantly contrast in such distinct ways like flavor and spice. Her graceful decadence contrasting with my cinnamon smile and cayenne complements.
I wonder if she identifies the fragrance.

She is a tease to my brain and a testament to my imaginative nature, but I’d love to toy with her senses the way she toys with mine. Sending her brain racking the walls of  consciousness trying to categorize me based on those she’s known. Yet our individual uniqueness’s make us stick out to one another. I ponder her intentions, as pure as they seem, and I always get the same idea. The Idea that she’s the embodiment of me.
The embodiment of my curiosity.

No matter how distant we are,
you’re always so close to my heart

I am a creature, I am no human.
For how many humans have claws?
Why is it that even when there are so many people around me, I’m still alone?

It’s because I’m no person
I’m a separate entity.

My mind is a void. I don’t know where it came from.
All I know is that I fall in it everyday

In truth, I am a Wildman swinging an ax. Where was the tree when I was burying my weapon into the helpless?
Why am I still in a hush over the things I shouldn’t even be thinking about? Why do I call myself a poet and why is it that the kind of poems I do are about something that I’ve barely felt.
It’s Ironic, isn’t it?
My soul dries up as people soak each other in liquid love. My heart burns as people kiss around me. I don’t feel jealousy, just a longing.
A longing for that taste that I used to know.
A longing for the cuisine of love and all its benefits.
For even though I only had a taste of something I considered basic
I still hunger for what I had.
I still hunger for that flavor

It’s like my life flashes before I can grip it
I think too much about what I try to say, and always end up messing my words up.
I can’t fix it. It’s grown on my
Growth
A product of time.
A sapling is born in a soul, that soul is tormented and the sapling struggles for life.
But the sapling endures in the freezing temperatures.
It knows it will blossom to become a true self-revelation.
When will this sapling become a tree?
Only time will tell

It's in a sea swarming with strangers that reminds me of my size.
Some call me too big, others call me too little
But every time I'm surrounded by people
I begin to feel

Tiny

If she lies once more about where she was, I swear I might hit her.
She’s playing with my emotion, a force she’s never extracted from me before.
And It bothers me.

If she lies about why she smells like cologne again, I might get on my knees and cry.
She knows my delicacy, yet she still is determined to melt my silicon soul.

Jilted presence, ever-present guilt in her eyes, I can taste the sweat of betrayal on her cheeks.
She has broken my spirit and my longing for love.

If she breaks me one more time, I just might leave…. But I always come back. She has become my only reality, the only thing I’ve really claimed to love. And I’ve given her so much power that now
I need her

I can taste the unfaithfulness on your lips.
Your sensuous nibbles do naught but solidify my fears.

You’re a liar and a heartbreaker
But right now, you’re all I have

Gasoline lies drip to the ground with each part of your lips
Drenching my heart in the foul odor of deception.
My own anger at you is the match
Struck with each false tale.

Bloated with the taste of sickening liquid lies, my heart catches aflame.
And I burn my anguish away.

A thought crossed my mind last night.
What if I loved you?
What if we actually became intimate? What if our little flirts developed into something more like those that I know. What if we became more than casual passes in the hallways? What if we became closer than whatever we are now?
Would you be cool with that?
A question came to my head yesterday.
Why am I searching for a phantom?
Why is it that I look unknowingly for a love that I could give an honest **** about? How is it that I’m stuck in the past looking for something to fill that which I only had a taste of? How is it that even under the pressures of life I still have enough space in my schedule to stress over love?
Do you know what love is? Because I wouldn’t mind teaching you.
Would you be cool with that?
What if we gave each other our minds, what if we developed into something that even we had no clue about?
Would you be cool with that?
In this dark world, would you be cool with me holding your hand and leading the way? Would you be ok with showing an interest in a forsaken soul who shows an interest in you?
Would you be ok with speaking in private and kissing in public? Would you accept my invitation to entwine fingers and chat the world away?
Or Am I Just Dreaming?

How many punches can the human heart take before breaking? How many strikes can there be before a person is down? Maybe she could tell you.
She’s a player, and I’m not talking baseball. She plays with hearts, she plays with emotion until the emotion is drained and you are most vulnerable. She is a demon of heaven but a hellion angel.
Wonderfully wizardry but her spells send a mind into self-tension.
And I have been bewitched.
Bewitched by her fragrance, by the taste of her lips, by her mind and what I thought was the real her.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was actually hypnotized by this beauty. Maybe she wasn’t who she was, but I would’ve thought I was who I was supposed to be.
Who Am I? Who was she? Where am I in this world of deceit and trickery?
A chef of misery, cooking up a fresh batch with every new victim, so sensual yet so senseless
The touch of duplicity.

My heart is still warm when it’s handed back to me
I guess it wasn’t enough to guarantee a love.
Who knew love would be so expensive.

I wish I had some intimacy
I wish I had that feeling of decadence again.
I just want to feel the love

My hands shake too much
Spoiled with the spell of calm that came over them when they would grasp a counterpart
A counterpart now missing

My tongue would savor the taste that stayed on my lips
Spoiled by chocolate sweet kisses
Kisses now missing

My arms used to ache
the feeling of someone in between them continuously
But now they hang by my side and keep to themselves, lonely.

I just miss the security.
The luxury of the life
I miss the taste of affinity that still bubbles on the cushion of my lips
That time when my heart was in decadence.

Is it bad to think of strangers when your friends are around?
Why is it that a person you don’t know stays a mystery when all you have to do is introduce yourself?
What is a stranger really?
And why do I keep making eye contact with them?

I never truly loved you.
My love, you were my eye candy.
You were my dum-dum
My sucker
And I only kept you around because you looked great on my shoulder.

Jay

I know a mind that heats up hotter than the sun and a body that can become a brick
I love her dearly, but in truth, I think her head is a bit thick.
She’s an adventurous soul with a warm heart and a mind that’s faster than the draw
A perfect being and sure sweetheart, she has no single flaw.

The party wherever she is and personality unmatched in all,
she’s a singular creature of complexity
A compilation of personalities yet one of her own,
a chameleon with surprising dexterity

The embodiment of physical beauty,
When she walks by, people notice
Needless to say, I would be extremely guilty
If I didn’t let her know this.

A crush is a crush, and a love is a love
But a friendship is something much more.
A wish is a wish, and to miss is to miss
But there’s so much that the both of us haven’t explored.

I know a mind that heats up hotter than the sun
In the body of a wild child
And I know someone who I won’t forget
Because she’s always making me smile

Jaylene

To us, it is a legend of love
To us, its arrow is mystical

But in truth, he has no magic bow
It's just the thought of the arrows that makes you think that.

Every time we talk, this cherry child has me hypnotized
Empty eyes and beautiful voice has my mind tingling
Itching like my palms.

Every time she comes in the room, the air gets colder
Leopard-skin lover with a pompous soul and a vicious need for attention
I am her mediator, showing the love she desires and cutting through previous facades
Calming like my kisses.

Every time we lock eyes, this being of wonder gets me star-struck
Woman of wonderlust, being of beauty with hips so vibrant as to cause movement
Dancing like my footfalls.

Sensuous beauty with the world on her back and a lot on her mind
Sitting on child swings like kindergarteners and just thinking of her past lives
I place my hands over yours as I guide you through the air with each push
Swinging like my fingertips.

Crazy as it is I’ve made no choices, as the loves I’ve felt were real
But there’s something about helping a person who is down
Deep conversation turned theory on love turned burden upon burden’s release
And when all is said and all is done, there’s nothing left to do but listen to the music of us two.
Sitting on the swings listening to the rhythm of the air, my love, I must choose you.
For no other can offer the sweet satisfaction of watching a young bird soar through the skies and be her wings, no other can offer the kiss of one who’s done it least, no other can show such truth.
So I’ll always cherish those talks on the swing-set and the problems uncovered as we chatted the day to dusk.
Steady pushing you higher and higher, letting you escape the hell and tears and lifting you.
Ever Swinging like my fingertips

Heartache Of Rescue

I save so many souls on a daily that I forget about my own.
But I’m sick of saving hearts.
Only time can tell how long it is before the knight in shining armor is saved by a princess.
And maybe on that day, my heart will be spared as a token of gratitude
Rather than a practice for abusers.

Love is like a drug that I can never over-dose on
But for some reason I keep getting the worst batch

Tiny tastes of skin produce many a flavor of salt
But of all the things I taste
Your skin tastes most delicious
And I am obsessed with that flavor

There are so many ways I want you, so many ways I lust you
Yet there are so many reasons of why it is I can not claim to love you.
My eager reluctance keeps me from claiming love.

White rose petals litter the floor around me
Moving so slowly like ripples in the ocean
A body lay in the middle of the tide
Thick and dark like chocolate against the white petals
Open for a love I desire to give.
I lie down and grip at the hips, tugging it towards me,
Quickly adjusting my form to fit
And we lock eyes.
Thus is the feeling of love I had been wishing
Thus is the feeling I lust when we’re kissing.

But when our lips lock, our loves don’t, I feel we are two souls forced into an intertwine.
I lust you, oh how I lust you, but that lust is perpetually sans its love.

Conscience-confusing creature of contemplation, your body is driving me mad.
Lover without love, you are my sweetheart, but you remind me of love we never had.

my wishes of clarity aren’t answered in time, I am in a state of longing.
I am a drizzle.
My mind is full of fantasies. My heart full of accidental burdens.
I am now the rain.
It won’t clear, I still feel that longing, It begins loathing in my heart.
My rain pours and I turn into a storm.

A being formed on the verge of insanity and off the coast of tornadic, and a mind on the verge of chaotic.
I calm.
Leaves falling to the ground as my unforgiving rains relent.
But it is merely momentary. For the thoughts always return.
The rains pour as my mind clouds, the winds rise as my heart sinks. My eyes water as the thoughts circle around and around in my consciousness.
I am a hurricane
Let me whine on my via dolorosa.

I consider myself to be an indefinite factor in life
So I plan to stay
But I want to borrow your heart for the rest of time.
I hope that that's okay.

I can keep it real when I need to.
So she always knows the deal.
I never complain of my body, but should work on my *** appeal.

I’m glad she was patient with me, but the quickie stated impatience.
Hands full of body and nose full of fragrance.

She was my reluctant first

I was too anxious to just enjoy and now it’s got me marked.
Now we speak and she jokes, but somehow I don’t feel dark.
They say that nothing is common knowledge, but I feel I can learn all.
Given another chance, I’ll give my best at what I find as an actual fall.

But until then, I still think of those few moments
Immersed in love and something wetter
I think about what I did and what I can do
And all the ways that next time I’ll show her better.

It’s true that I’m a beginner in most ways. But I learn fast if taught right.
Never had to fake for rich people, but I can learn. Never told a lover I love them, but I can learn. Never had ***, but I can learn.
It’s the experience.
Now I get it. It’s not a question of quality or quantity, merely question of experience in a world of inexperience.
But how can one learn
If none will teach?

Oh, how I long to taste your lips, how I wish to hold your hand.
How I long to do something crazy, maybe **** I don’t understand.

**** and sensuous, freezing me solid.
My mind has been replaced with an insatiable lust for you. It’s gripping me roughly like I grip you.
My hands no longer caress your hips, instead they grip them generously and pull you closer. Head spinning, from smooches to kisses, we become more intimate with each lean in.
Then comes the things none shall tell.
Maybe soon bodies will be entwined, maybe one day moans shall escape. But on such a day, my mind will escape me. I will be operated not by love
But purely lust for our sensuality

Honey droplets form at the edge of somber eyes
Tears I long to leaf away.
She is angry, same as always
Because her love has gone astray.
But what she doesn’t know is that love don’t go,
It simply fades and appears.
Yet she can’t see when she looks at me
That I can erase her fears.

You must not love a poet.

A poem is the formation of love in written form, even when chanting or venting or raving.
A poet is a being of emotion whose outlet they’re constantly craving.
You over-look me simply because you see that I am volcanic as lust
And you know that for my love/lava flow, I can turn a heart to dust.

But I still lust you.

A trigger of feeling, a headache of horror, we are one and we are the same
A body for ***, a mind for intimacy, being of love and beings of shame.
Heated in chill and frozen in warmth, we are lust, ***, and passion.
Thus I offer you as a poet, here, I give you my attraction.

Honey droplets form at the edge of somber eyes
Tears I long to leaf away.
She is angry, same as always
Because her love has gone astray.

My dream is not distorted, but I do not see your sin
My eyes must be blinded by the position you’re in.
You’re my dream girl for life, I’m crazy for you like I’m crazy for love.
You toy with my mind so amazingly that I know it must be love.

You are an attempt for me to find knowledge of self through someone else’s efforts. I know your name as being synonymous with mine. We are a life our own, a chilling realization of how easily we fell.
Or tripped.
Do you see the same emotion through your eyes, or is this one-sided? Please let me know. Because I’m in love, I’m in lust.
I’m in heaven.
So show me that my heaven isn’t a mere mirage

Dream Girl

So young and wild, she’s a southern child.
Her heart of expression and her smile of the sky.
I can’t tell you my luck just to be her guy.
I’m so lonely without her that I can’t deny.
And if she isn’t pleased, I will find out why.

His love is liken to hers: infinite, never wasting.
A flavor I savor steady at tasting.
His Love is desired, but who shall give it to who?
He holds it tight, so none may have it, but there’s access for you.

Decadent, delicious dark desire with a warm taste, it’s love.
The main ingredient in the mix, the best that I know of.
Fun and fuzzy feelings of fantasy, she spoils a heart in truth.
And it makes me think of how it would be if we were still together in youth.

Wet and warm, a quiet storm, no rains, but sound is mild.
So soft and sweet, so young and wild, by god, she’s a southern child.

My head clouds with old memories that I can’t shake. I can’t express, but expression still shows.
What is it that’s making my head flow the way it is? It’s stinging me to the point of aching my heart. The past is crowding me now and I can’t escape the initial feelings of hurt that I placed on myself. I’m aching in every way, burning in every heat, and crying in every tissue.
There was love in the poet, now there is none.
There was life in this being, now he is empty. What’s the matter with me? What’s happening to my heart?
There’s a rising power in my body in the form of emotion. I can’t control it, but I can draw from it like energy. It’s Built so high that nothing will stop its escape but escape itself.
But I can’t let it out.
I can’t let an entity become my reality. I deserve to be free of this emotion and be an open book for somebody who shall fill my pages with love and trust.
I deserve redemption and deserve the prosperity that comes with it.
But I don’t have it.
So I must stay content with myself, poem after poem of false emotion. Day after day of fake feelings. Hour after hour of missing love. And now the lonely has returned.
Stronger than it ever was before. I can see it every time I close my eyes. I miss the past, so I live in it. It’s true, my past is my reality, my future is omnipresent.
I am a weeping willow in the middle of the botanical garden, sad, life-drained, sick looking. But I am just as beautiful as any other plant in the garden, in fact, maybe more so. But I just want a heart who wants mine. Please, god, stop this maddening emptiness in me. I feel like clawing out the sockets in the walls as the rain breaks the roof and pours onto my raging body.
The thirst has returned. That feeling of needing something so much that it seems essential. I am starved of lust and lacking the healthy love that comes with it.
I need Love.

I’ve grown to like her body, but can’t fall in love with her mind.
We’re not on an equal playing field, no love for the lover, but it gets odd every time we talk.
So we stay quiet.

Originally, I could make love to her mind while we gave thoughts that pierced the order of the world’s system, but I can’t even sense a happiness anymore. We’re no longer a pair, no longer a connection.
We are mismatched.
I feel it, but can’t touch it on my plane of existence.
Raindrops drum on the base of my window sill as I write to the winds, words not flowing well enough so I force them as I force my tears back into my skull.
I’m a timebomb- limited and dangerous, and, sooner or later, I’ll explode.
I taste something bitter between my lips as I make winds flow around me. With my thoughts on my sleeve, I begin to feel
Swooned.
My winds block out the sounds of her
Tears wash away her long lost kisses
And my aching heart throbs enough to get rid of the pain of the thought of her nails on my cheeks as we stared into each other’s souls.
I gave you my heart, love. What was it you planned to do with it besides break it? I wanted the love that you could provide, I wanted to hold hands and speak sweet nothings, I wanted to argue about dumb things and hear you claim to hate  me before we’d make up and become best friends again.
But I was wrong.
Maybe it was bad luck, maybe it was Karma, but I was wrong about you. You weren’t the fantasy I thought you were, you were a chip in my armour that I had no clue about. You were my freedom, but you revoked yourself.
You were my love.
And now, love, I’m afraid we’re in a state of afterlove. I love you, but don’t and so forget my words of sweetness, my ****** jokes or, as you put it, quirky personality.
Your space in my heart has been revoked.

The sun’s light drips off of my body like bright water
Liquid essence falling to the grounds by my sneakers and bathes the pavement.
I’m at a burn in heart.
The life drains from me slowly like needles in veins, but it’s not a medical extraction. I can feel something rising in me that isn’t being elevated. I feel the fear of change but the excitement of anger.
I feel hate.
Who do I hate? None, but I somehow still feel it. Empty words with a full mind, blunt remarks with a sharp intent. A passive aggression beyond comprehension.
I feel her hands on my cheeks as we kissed before she left. I could feel her love as she says she loves me, but I feel I’ve given her too many chances, I feel I’m in a situation of double jeopardy. So I let her go.
And I haven’t bounced back.
Now I miss my honeybee, but she can’t know the emotion dedicated to her or the power she unknowingly has on me. She can bring me to the ground in a matter of seconds, and yet, she stays to play with pityness and pride stings as she flaunts her new lovers.
And so I melt like metals in a furnace.
They say a man isn’t supposed to cry, they say he has to be as strong as steel. But I do cry, and when I do
My hard tears drip off of my cheeks like
Dripping silver

shyness is a sword's sheath
the thing that covers up all of the intent and all of the actuality of an individual.
I am shy
but not because I'm hiding motives
but rather because it's the only way of explaining myself to people.

One thing that I can’t do is sit back idle while I sense tears in her eyes.
I can’t let that happen.
One thing I can’t do is imagine anyone trying to hurt her in any way.
I guess that means I’m gullible, right?
People are people, and I put absolutely nothing as being below them, but she’s an inspiration. She’s a free spirit in public and a good converser in private. She’s a being of light in the tunnel of life, and I’m glad to know her. But somehow she still hurts. And when she hurts, I don’t know why, but I can feel something in my spirit turning.
What’s going on? Why is this happening? Lost words, empty convo, I’m confused to the point of losing grips on myself, my therapy failing for the first time in years. I’m just as shaken as she is, and yet she can rebuild.
Why is this cherry child crying clear tears of pain? Why has this been put in her life? What is it I can do to help? Things I’ll never answer in my lifetime, but the mystery is still killing me.
Upset sadness clouds my judgement, questions arise that I refuse to answer, wishing for her attention sometimes but then not the next. And yet all I want to be is there.
It just feels different, like the balance of the world has shifted in disturbing proportions and now I have no control over what I initially thought I completely overpowered.
Am I really a shoulder to cry on or merely another passing emotion in a setting of many? Is my feeling really different from anyone else’s in this confusion?
One thing I can’t do is let the questions pass without trying to reach out and caress the answers. I need to know what it is that’s going on, I need to know how I can be the knight in shining armor for the princess who’s stolen my heart.
Is that wrong?
Is it considered obsessive if I study people in an effort to learn any and everything I can about a situation I’ve never had to deal with? Am I supposed to feel as stupid as I do when the things I do don’t work?
One thing I have to know is if there are answers to my questions.
The questions I refuse to ask.