I am the pole.
He is the ball.
She is the tether.
She is what binds us.
What keeps us together.

Blood pours out like like
a dormant volcano that
has suddenly awoken.
Molten earth has
finally found a route
of destruction.
A crevice from
which to seep.
An exit from which
to escape.
Fiery red lava.
The blood reminded
her of lava.
So dramatic in her thoughts.
Alas, it is but a paper cut.

She wakes up every day with a telescopic
sweater person staring at her face.
The smoke filled room is foggy and
reminiscent of a dreary London afternoon,
Sunlight slowly filters through a screenless
glass pane that lies behind the dusty wooden
panels that protect her from the blinding light.
The dust dances effortlessly through the streaks
of filtered sun as if they were a couple which
have danced this dance many times before.
With a heavy thump the whimsy of dancing
dust is taken away as the reality of chaos sets in.
In a flurry of blond hair and the ever present
feeling of fleeting time she reluctantly untangles
herself from the rainbow colored cloak that
protects her from the scowling faces that
await beyond the fortress door.
"Five more minutes." she whispered
to herself in an effort to remain within silence.
Entangled in her rainbow she threw her head
back upon her misshapen pillow chasing
the dream she will never be able to finish.
The pleasant ones that whisk her away
from telescopic sweater people
and scowling faces.
She rather dream of dancing dust.

Insulting drunken conversations
lead to mass confusion
internally in me.
I am a toy at his disposal.
Too available.
What kept me sane
now drives me mad.
Boys get scared.
Men deny for fear of pain.
I accept for fear of loss.
I am the desert rose.
The black, red lined rose.
I am destined for solitude
till I am stumbled upon by him.
The rose that is so dark
and ridden with thorns
is fragile and weak.
Beautiful yet damaged.
Intimidating yet meek.
Rare and unique.
The boy who found her
plucked her out of the sand.
Worshiped her at first.
Flaunted her.
Praised her.
Suddenly she was kept secretly.
When he truly loved the rose
he hid her.
He had never loved
a rose this dark before.
He plucked out a few petals.
He shaved off a few thorns.
He hung upside down to dry.
The rose is brittle and breakable now.
Ashamed of his care for such a unique
rose he crumbled her back into the sand.
Desert roses are born of sand.
Next time man touches her
she will disintegrate in the firm hand.
She will return to the sand from
where she came.
Never to be touched by little men again.

I'm strung out on you.
I'm intoxicated with the way
you make me feel.
I tingle when I think about it.
Your scent unhinges me.
Completely.
The warmth of ecstasy
vibrates in my core.
I am high when I am
near you.
Adrenaline rushes through
me like *******.
The sensation of your touch
unfolds me like a map
to the origin of pleasure.
Your words stroke me
and make my body bend,
twist and shake.
Under your hand I
contort and shiver.
You make me quiver.
You grab me and
swivel my hips.
My eyes roll back and
I bite my lip.
Like ******
time does not exist
when you are in me.
Your caress is like ketamine
I can not feel my extremities.
There is no ceiling.
There is no floor.
The way you move me
makes me your *****.
Like MDMA  your
embrace makes my
heart race.
You take me on a
ride that I can not escape.
The ****** is like
sitting on a speaker in space.
Your deep base line
makes my spine roll.
The loss of control
feels like a k hole.
I inhale you .
You envelop me
internally.
You have full control
of my body
Without you I am sober.
Without you I am
waiting for more.
I need another hit of you.
I'm strung out on you.

They say I have no shame
but when I am with him
I am ashamed,
He has only to speak one word
to bring me tears.
He has only to give me one glance
to see all my fears.
He quickly sees through my facade
and all the make-up I have on.
He looks deeply into my eyes.
He prys inside my mind.
He quietly creeps through the
complicated corridors of my head.
I am a piece of art painted by dim light.
In the darkness, I am a thing of beauty.
In the light, I am pale and I have poison
running through my veins.
Yet you crave my blood and lust after
me like a dog in search of his favorite bone.
"Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth,"
I am your lie that makes you see your own horror.
You see me reflected in you.
Or do you see yourself reflected in me?
You were the sculptor.
I was merely a piece.
A piece that became reality.
You blindly saw perfection and
denied all of my flaws.
If i was painted in darkness,
what would make you think the light would hit me now?
It's funny how things work out.
It scares you that when you when you see me you see yourself.
That's why you say I love you.
In reality you want to scream I hate you and run away.
Not because it's me but because it is you you hate.
No other betrayal was ever as horrible
as what I see now in you.
You believed I was more than everything.
I was created with the picture of perfection.
I am human, I do have defections.
Here stands the person that you have created.
Excuse me sir.
I never asked to be painted.

Quote by Pablo Picasso