how fitting that i
spend my dark hours on a
monochrome website.

grey skies are pretty.
the matter of concealing
the sun intrigues me.

the sky sets slowly
over the sea, blues and pinks
wash my windowpanes.

none of the words come out right anymore. i’m mentally stuttering, and my engine is dying. my words aren’t flowing anymore, they’re clotting like blood on my skin. and sure, every so often i’ll pick at the scab and it might come back for a while, but it’ll dry and heal and never show again. because my work is often like a wound. my words are like blood; they only really come when i’m stumbling with a grazed knee, sobbing like a child. they only flow when i’m hurt. i start to beg for a bandage, wishing for the blood to stop. and when the blood stops, the pain stops, and then the words.

She whispered to her husband with a little unease
They want to remove these but without them I might no longer be able to please...

Let them take them!
You're not just your *******,
You're not just your beautiful eyes
I wouldn't care if you'd been plucked blind!
You're not just a pair of luscious legs
that hold up that beautiful peach of an ****
You're the very air that I breathe
and every beat of my heart
I don't care if you don't have a thing on your chest
I only care, that without you near
I would follow you into eternal rest
Please let them take them
I'm not interested in anything
that doesn't have you to support them

His gaze started at her pretty pink toenails and travelled leisurely up her calves, his hands followed his eyes, to her knees and paused halfway up.
His hands skimmed her rounded belly where their three children began their life then traced her tiger scars onto her rib cage but his eyes were on hers, glittering like stars.
He ghosted up her torso and rested a trembling hand on her pulse
He whispered gently, against her lips

*This is what I want to feel the most!

please don't let this
all be for nothing, I'm scared
that I'm failing you.

you make me so unbelievably happy
that flowers have started growing everywhere;
in the vase you left on my windowsill,
in the pillowcase you used last time you slept here,
and in my body, my heart, my lungs.
the air is cleaner, the sky clearer,
i can breathe again.
every so often, i cut a daisy
from around my throat and put it in my hair.
i use them as a reminder
of what you mean to me.
the oxygen in my lungs mixing
with the soil and stems and leaves and petals.
i use them to make me feel alive.