Her love is blindness pray
That she never sees the light of day
That she never sees the better way
For until she does she'll stay

I am bored with love,
and it's passionless limbs that drape over my bed
and it's lethargic state of impotence
while it still idiotically wears that same red heart.

There we were alone in togetherness,
trying to build dreams with two by fours and glue,
but even a home wouldn't bind us
when our hearts lived so alone...

Poetic vows cliched into nothingness,
like all words eventually do,
and we allowed our bodies to become
another pair of hollow shadows
that made love to walls
instead of to each other.

And still we wondered why
the roses were dying.

Its not that she never stays,
She was never there to begin with.
Her mind is still living in faerietales she creates
and whenever she sees a new Peter Pan
she must change her story
so she can fly away.

The passion and soft smile never was for you-
it belonged to the hero wedged in her head-
the moment she saw you,
you were dead.

Been dreaming of my first holy moments making love to you.

Your body is an intricate Japanese line drawing-
I look in awe and touch with reverence.
My head is thick with wonder.

You are a precious collectible,
wrapped in white linen,
waiting to be opened and adored.

Your taste is expensive oil,
I want to drink from your fountain forever.

Your light is but a mere reflection of broken stars,
of whose nuances and rumoured brilliance you act out so well.

You are blind my love,
in all our time you never met me.
All you see are the faerie tales
tattooed on the insides of your eyelids.

When the hype is over you fly to the next
and the next
and the next.
I knew from the day we met you would leave.

Even with all the songs you write,
the writers you quote,
your elegant chatter,
your flare that melts men and women alike-
you are still as shallow as pink bunny's and baked beans.

You are the most lethal kind,
if you were at least a ***** you would be honest,
but your softness and kindness
sets men up
to be dropped like broken toys from a fat spoilt brat.

I really don't know why I'm still so tender towards you.

Time gnaws at aging flesh,
like babies we all try to get up and walk,
we grapple for some selfish soul close by,
we fight for breath,
for light,
for a cool draft from the incessant heat.

Some have the blessing of failed hope and escape soon,
some see another better world through closing their eyes,
some fight the hell with stubborn angry zest,
and others embrace this hell as home.

It all ends in blood:
its what the rat desires,
its what the rat requires.

And though we can sometimes forget,
we feel it with each pain,
each struggle,
each disappointment,
regret:

our inevitable outcome,
the brevity of time,
even all our joys are tainted with decay and death.

We know in this life we are *******-
our only hope and possible redemption is for the invisible,
the unknown,
the jest.

In visions,
a coy smile and akward way,
sweet and ****,
on my side.

All my affections have been misplaced,
it has always been her.

Ive seen her shadows in other eyes and felt her tremors in others i touched,
but somehow i missed it and thought they were her.

Im sickened by her only being in my head.