Another poet wrote a poem today,
and it was riveting.
Each word, an intricately carved figure into an ornate pattern.
Every syllable, singing the beloved song I never thought I'd hear again.

My soul transcribed onto paper.
I could feel my heart taking flight with each rhyme,
soaring by the end of the poem.

Of course, myself being a fellow poet,
these thoughts remained in their place of origin, though unwillingly.
How could I, a fellow poet, succumb to his talent?

Did he recognize that glimmer in my eyes,
the sparkle of childlike admiration?

Or, upon looking into my eyes, could he see fire,
the burning heat of my jealousy?

I loathed him; how was it that he was so moved with talent,
and I, a piteous poet who failed to move so much as a single soul?

He took to poetry as a bird takes to the sky,
so beautiful as to leave my stomach in knots
and my head reeling.

The strangest sensation came over me,
when I read the other poet's work.
A sensation of simultaneous beauty and disgust,
a deep longing and loving, intertwined with
the greatest disdain.

I handed back the paper,
conflicted by my own inner turmoil.
These darkest of feelings remained where they first lie,
never to be known by another poet.

Dark lipstick on his neck
From where I made my mark
Kissing sessions, full of passion
His kisses are my greatest addiction

Holding hands, in the night
Cuddles as we light up
Our cigarettes

I’m sitting here alone.
This empty car lot.
Another heart broken.
No preconceptions.
Nobody to point the way.
I need to break all the rules.
I need to beat the system.

I need to stop crying.
And stand up.
Shout out for her.
She is out there.
I can feel it.

For now,
    We have fun.

sometimes i write lies
but mostly i write about you
and sometimes
i don't know the difference

In the house which sits atop the hill where Jack lived when he married Jill a light burns on the window sill and shines out to the man below,who waits to go and get a ladder,steal Jill away so he can add her to his collection of fairy tales.

As much as I despise it
My love for you is

                                    F A R
Beyond the hatred.

I love your sinful,
beautiful ways,
of playing with,
my heartstrings.

I guess I love...everything.
Your ugly sins.
Your beautiful lies.
Your tainted feelings.
How I wish I could despise.

Oh, your anger.
Oh your clever ***** ways,
of playing with my heartstrings.

Your filthy hands covered in my blood of love.
You never even had the chance to put on gloves.

It feels like a hot iron,
Sitting
on the back of your hand.
Burning
away all the flesh.
Exposing
tendons and bones.

Blood. Burn.