His hands are stained blood red
From the beating of my heart.
He holds it at all times
Showering it with love
He is my hearts keeper.
Never once has he let it fall
Or seen it slip from his grasp
He holds tight to it,
Afraid he may see it with someone else
But never would I let my heart
be held in another's hand.
She had fire in her heart!
In her soul.
And even as she aged
Her heart, never grew old.
Her life was lived
Off the edge.
But that's how she liked it
That's how she CHOSE it.
As she grew
That fire in her heart grew
And even when her hair grayed
And her body ached
She never lost the burning
Of the fire
In her heart
Lately I've been wondering.
Am I happy with what I have?
I don't mean clothes
Am I happy with life?
I think so,
but how can one truly know?
Isn't 'happiness' just a mere emotion.
A fleeting second of contentment
Of having every nerve in your being
And if you really think about it
Isn't happiness a little selfish at times?
Having something happen to YOU
that makes YOU feel good
and therefore 'happy'
Happiness is humanities selfish drug.
Because in the end
Aren't we all just chasing the next high?
Whispers bounce around the room
One whisper after the next
Trapped between four walls for a lifetime
Whispers of things that have happened
Shameful things, that can only be spoken in hushed voices
Years pass and the whispers accumulate
like dirt in some old abandon home
One whisper atop another
Until it's too much
And all those small, quiet whispers
Have turned into loud shouts, screams
And pleas to be let out
But they can't be free'd
Because every hushed voice
Every thoughtless, shameful whisper
Would be let out with a scream for the world to hear
And some things are better left unheard
Some things are better left in the dark,
to bounce around through time
Where not a soul can hear.
In close quarters I sat
Pondering my days of longevity
Oh, how the days do seem to pass
And how can I even use the term 'longevity'
Twenty six years and my life has only begun
But some grow old long before their time
And the days begin to slide one into the other
And I wonder, is this how everyday shall come to pass?
The night comes to a close
And then the week comes to a close
And eventually years come to a close
And finally im old and my life has come to a close as well?
Can we never escape the old wise father of time?
I'd like to believe that every minute isn't watched
That even free time isn't run on a schedule
But eventually every time is up
And when it comes I'll be ready
My time will have been expired
But not in haste
For every prophecy I have ever dreamed of
Will have been fulfilled
Your my peach.
I bite into you
Because your delicious
Covered in your juices
I wipe the juice away.
Just one more bite
And I'll have eaten
all of your best parts.
But I don't want your pit
So I throw it away.
Sunshine on her face
And she sparkled like the sea
Perfectly helpless was all she'd ever be
A warrior of the road
And beautiful even in cheap hotels
Her life was painted a pretty pastel
Her soul was unflinching
Even on the worst days
She took her hardships and dumped them into old ashtrays
And when the night finally came
And she'd smoked her last cigarette
She would lay her head down
And wait for yet another sunset.