They'll write journeys of you,
within the depths of their eyes,
They'll think of you often,
and remember all times,
They'll paint passion,
with the sweep of their pen,
They'll feel deep, evocative spirits,
when voices relay what silk sheets have penned,
They'll tell of your kisses,
how they taste sweeter than wine,
They’ll tell of lips soft as clouds,
And tongues passionately sword fighting,
They'll speak of your flaws,
as if they are perfection,
They'll walk you into new worlds,
and seize hold of your heart,
They'll scribe their innermost desires between lines,
and grasp onto your soul,
They'll tell of your softness,
and how your skin favors silk,
They'll tell of your scent,
sweet and inviting,
They'll tell of your taste,
as tongues beg for nectar,
They'll speak of faith,
and the linking of two beings,
Fall in love with a Poet,
to be loved endlessly.

She was a rose dying internally,

No one recognized her suffering,

All that mattered to the world was themselves…

~E.J.W~

Because like bait,
I am ****** to be consumed
By the ominous demons
Of the dark waters below
Why can the sun
Never graze my skin
And the fight of my heart
Is neglected by the eye
And taken for nothing
Why can't I
Be free as birds
Instead anxieties riddle my head
As I hear them
Pounding like my heartbeat
I no longer bare
The thought of a hope
As I continue to swim
With a predestined fate

I don't want to be me.
ME.
Miserable
Emptiness.

Believe me when I tell you that magic is real.
That right before your eyes things will change.

And for a split second everything dark, every shadow, seems to wash away as your world fills with color.

But in order for magic to be real...
You have to be real too.

You are light itself;
you are blessed, you are blessing.
Peace always with you.