My god came to me before my very birth--
Their radiant light a looming darkness on my soul--
And before my feet happened to touch upon the Earth,
I had tasted on Their lips the means t'make me whole.

Their lips showed the cosmos.
Their lips showed me distress.
Their lips left me comatose,
Crippled by their lips' duress.

My god appeared to me upon my birth--
My lips still mute and mind still mush--
To inform me that I'd proven my worth.
"It'll take time, my little one. There's no need to rush."

Their words showed me intellect.
Their words showed me euphoria.
There were beacons merged with derelicts;
The most glorious phantasmagoria.

My god appeared to me just now--
Smirking back in my reflection--
He told me that I'd done him proud,
That I'd become my god: perfection.

I'd showed myself the cosmos; the truest intellect.
I'd showed myself distress; the cruelest euphoria.
I was no longer comatose; not just a derelict.
I'm now the bringer of duress;
I'm now Phantasmagoria!

Love stained my soul
like
charcoal
But somehow you
Made it under my skin
I tried to dig you
Out of my veins
I bled out
But you stayed in

it takes a real proud man to make a girl cry hard. most things a girl can cry off in ten minutes. Tough things. Like giving birth to big *** babies with their big *** heads and ****. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the deepest cries. Ones that come from the most hurt-felt part of a woman's soul. Ones that make your eyes close and your stomach sick. Ones that make your whole body freeze, and all you can think is, "i am responsible for this unbearable pain, on such a gentle woman's soul."

i am a master of this art. i have learned the call of the lone woman; almost a swan song, of a dying gentle soul begging to be heard. Begging, for the one who can save her to act before she drowns; to do anything but stand there and stare. Anything but let her die this lonesome death just out of reach of his arms.

i have a recipe for hurt. tested and tried thoroughly over the years, i can now say it is perfected. i can hurt beautiful souls and shatter their wonderful dreams, then so simply turn it around to make it sound like it was their fault. one may say this is a fine delicacy. i say it is the recipe to feed lost souls. ones who will be lost in limbo for all eternity because even in death, their pride was still too big for the afterlife.

there is a special talent i have that is unique for mastering the art of hurt. like x-ray vision it is a power to bring out, in other people, what they don't want anyone to see. i can bring out the worst in a beautiful soul faster than you can look in someone's eyes. i can make monsters of magnificent beings, then call them crazy and be on my way.

Leaving behind a faded tye-dye that's left to hang dry in the sun, knowing that her colours will never shine as bright as they once did, ever again.

.

i'm wasted on the girl i love
the buzz ended long ago
but i dream of being sober again
because this hangover will certainly **** me

i'm high from her eyes
and her smile it gets me ripped
but some days i get carried away
and the burnout makes me want to quit

so hit me with another round
shot by shot, i'm alone
somebody, please, call a cab
'cause i can't make make it on my own

love poisoning has got the best of me
lay me down before i fall
because love itself is more addicting than coke
and losing it; worse than withdrawl.

i'm all burnt out now
even though harsh winter's done
my chest is still tight

She waits for you,
Under a blossom tree,
Nestled in the furthest corner,
Of her floral mind.

She waits for you,
Throughout the winter,
And let's the cold,
Seek shelter within her icy veins,
Rooting her limbs to the frozen earth.

She waits for you,
As the rain falls through the wilting leaves,
And is thankful that she,
Is not the only tearful heart.

She waits for you,
Even when the storm grows violent,
And she grows fearful,
That the wind will break her fragile bones,
And tear down her vacant foundations.

She waits for you,
In the summer warmth.

She's waiting for the flowers.

*but they will cease to bloom