sticks rub together in her brain, forming bright, painful sparks that unite to become flames - vibrant, scorching, dark - settling into every crevice until the smoke washes over - opaque, thick, endless - and ashes close in on her.
Men sweat. Woman bleed. Both are beasts of burden until their bodies coil as one ready to strike cruel masters. They float upon love's breeze and feel no pain, just healed.
Imagine being a poet with nothing to say. Vacant eyes fixed on your screen all day. If a lost soul reaches out, you slap them away. You pretend to be a poet, but you've got nothing to say.
I will take this love and I will run with it as far as it will take me as high as it will make me I will take this love and I will run with it and I will never look back for fear reality will overtake me