She left her heart with him so silently,
He hadn't even known it was there.

He carried it, no matter who was in her life.
Because she loves him more than anything.

And she can't have him.

Love has no place here in a world doused in shades of grey.
No warmth comes with winter sunshine; it's been chilled by the December Solstice winds.
The days have lost meaning within a destructive Earth.
Forever lost is the bliss they once knew.
Immortals turn their cheek in shame that no one else feels in themselves.
The apocalypse is upon a place once so promising.

How could they forget the beauty of what they had?
Why must they lust for more, to tear the world asunder?
Cast the world into an illusionist's fire!
Burn this blemish from what used to be a perfect canvas.
Paint them anew, begin again!

Exile the self made evil, the hatred.
Create with vibrant colors for a new being.
Bring about the miracle that they can survive.
They could never do it alone.

The incense grips the scent of memory, and strangles it.
The sweet smell is deadly to that of a joining, and the final parting.
Black Love upon the gargoyle's burner.

Suffocating, scarcely mercy it's only images now.
Pictures that make one choke to remember.
Not another soul knows the power of that upon the gargoyle's burner..

Pain of knowing its final, the sweetness chases it away.
The faint glowing tip promises no more, yet only until its charred away..
When the scent ends, how much will it hurt?

Memories fried, ash in the gargoyle's burner..
They'll persist forever more, no courage to scatter the remains.

The bittersweet stick of forgetfulness, one to leave another.

In the Gargoyle's Burner.

Why can't I see what you see?

How is it you find me beautiful,
When I only find myself barely decent?

How am I set so highly for you,
While I see myself so lowly?

When did I become everything you wanted?

When did I become anything more than the barely something,
I see myself everyday?

Why can't I see what you see?

There was no warning,

When the ghosts and the cobwebs cluttered this empty heart.

The chamber walls remain still.

All one can hear is the faint echo of agony as they trespass on hollow floors.

Loving books is agony.
There are so many stories, and so many lives to live.
There are thousands are realities who know nothing of our own in those pages.
Yet there seems to be so little time to live them, so little resources to attain them.

There is nothing like the ache to read everything that catches you, ensnares you in their concept;
And the knowledge that you cannot have them all.
Which life do you live this time?
The hardest part: Choosing only one.

One is never sure what pains will squeeze their hearts in those pages,
Or what moments will come to make them laugh aloud in public.
They will never predict where the moment will come that brings tears to their eyes.
There is pain, and happy moments in these pages in your hands.

Enjoy them.
Every ache, laugh, tear, and hour spent mulling over the events are worth it.

Be a book lover.

Don't break.

Don't fear.

If it's not okay, then it's not the end.

Patch up your cracks, and your holes.

Endure because that's all you've known.

Don't break.