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I crave a certain high,
the one I get
from the butterflies
that dance in
my stomach
whenever I see you.  
My parents warned me
about drugs on the street,
but never about the ones
with a heartbeat.
"Sometimes, the drugs you crave the most aren't drugs at all"
It's like cooking something for the first time,
burning your hand and never wanting to cook again.
Even though you know what you would cook deserves to be on the menu of some five star restaurant. One that lovers go to, to sip fine wine and stare off at the sunset as they learn how to fall in love all over again. You still can't bring yourself to do it. You can't turn on the stove because every time you do that same fiery sensation rushes through your veins, reminding you what it's like to burn. You shutter, trying to think what life would be like if you never turned the stove on in first place.
idk
I guess you could call me a bit of a *******,
because whenever you ripped my heart from my breast,
I felt nothing but pure ecstasy.
I didn't think I could ever get rid
of the only thing that reminded me of you.
You read my poetry in an attempt to understand me
versus an attempt to read literature
or fiction
or art
So you pick apart each sentence
and each syllable
and each subject
and you try so hard to figure me out
You want to know what I was thinking when I wrote this poem
or that poem
but what that tells me is perhaps you aren't even reading them at all
Although what poets express comes from the debths of our creative closets and emotional state
you must still open up your mind and soak up the words for what they are
Not for who I am
I guess I get weary of people who read my poetry that do not even read poetry and try to take every single thing I say in a literal sense. I'd rather those types of eyes not read my work at all.

(C) Maxwell 2014
Six months ago I was jumping through hoops to please you.
Six months ago I wanted to make sure you were happy before myself.
Six months ago I wanted to make sure it was me causing your happiness.
But it's not six months ago. It is now.
Quinn
She was always happy
She never complained
She always had a smile on her face
She made others around her happy
So how could you be on the phone
With Me now
Telling me she took her own life
How can you tell me
She's gone
Just yesterday she was
Laughing like there was no tomorrow
Just hours ago she was happy
Was she ?
I never asked
It never even crossed my mind
And now it's too late
Let me ask you
*Are you okay ?
He left with the passing time
no farewells offered
no heartfelt backward glance
his footfalls ticking seconds
echoing in the Sunday parlours of the righteous he despised

He left with the passing time
no one mourned,no tears were shed
His sacred, bleeding heart
now but a tattooed image
on the chests of the dejected

He left with the passing time
on whispers of myths
and suspected tall tales
doubting his own truth
despising the lie of his creation

He left with the passing time
while pious mice sang of his glory
behind the battlements of faith
as the wars of the wicked raged in his name

He left with the passing time
while mothers wailed at shaken babes
and the disappeared sang from **** choked graves

He left with the passing time
as society shunned his brand
and drunken feet  danced lasciviously on his moral high ground

He left, with the passing time...
My rather drunken write from last night, not sure if I'll edit it, remove it or bin it all together. Not sure I like it at all. Please leave feedback if you will, it would be greatly appreciated.
If at the end of the night
I look at you and smile
You look at me and approach
Grab my waist…and blush
Does it mean anything?

If at the spur of the moment
When I am nervous and stressed
I think of you and smile,
Cherish the moment…
Is it anything important?

If by the time we go to sleep
We both squeeze the pillows
Apart – but with the same thought
And smile good night…
Is it a good sign?

If my heart beats fast
And yours speeds its limit
Yet we don’t say a word
And nobody knows…
*Does it count?
Your whisper lingers my love,
In my ears, my mind, my heart,
I hear you through the trees above,
From that voice my soul will never part.

I feel that touch of your lips,
That exhilarating kiss.
All it took was a gentle breeze,
To carry my mind away from this restless peace.

I smile, as your fingers blow through my hair,
Like a lover you caress my head,
And without reserve, I fall into your care,
You who seemed not there.

Whispers, whispers!
Kisses, touches!
Why gift me with your presence,
And leave as I fall in love?
Why breathe upon me your love,
And then take your place in the skies above?

Why lift me into the skies,
With your soft fingers,
And then… and then leave me,
Hurtling down, your howl still ringing in my ears?

And yet my soul still longs for you,
All of you.
Your silky breath of wonder,
Your peaceful blow of bliss,
Your sudden gusts of passion,
Your blizzards of fury and rage.

Yes, I feel all of you,
Through the leaves,
Through my subtle tranquility,
Through my obsessions and craze,
You blow through me and in me,
You who seem not there.
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