Did you feel that? There was a tremor through my skin,
A tingling sensation, coming from within.
The vibration of music, rippling with the bass;
I always thought the game, was all about the chase.

But now that I’m here, I feel the music chilling down my spine;
And all that I can think of, is how to make you mine.
But my eyes just can’t seem to focus, with this eruption of feeling,
They say that music is feeling, but it’s through the magic of hearing.
They might be right, but these needs have moved to physical healing.
See I’ve suddenly got tunnel vision, and it’s toward you that I’m steering.

My hands are getting clammy, but my vision is getting clear.
All I know right now is that I need you; I need you closer than near.
Closer than close, close to touch,
I need it right now, and I need it so much.

Did you feel that? It’s a tremor through my skin,
This tingling sensation, coming from within.
The vibration of music, now tickling my bass,
Sometimes the game we’re playing, doesn’t require the chase.

Just a touch, just a kiss, just a small simple stroke,
You’ve got my body convulsing, craving to be choked.
Breath’s getting shallow & emotions dripping thick,
These pills that I’ve taken, have given quite the kick.
See my frequency is rising, and I think yours is rising too,
So I’m watching your body, and I’m waiting for your cue.

Did you feel that? There was a tremor through my skin,
A tingling sensation, coming from within.
The vibrations of music, weaving in and out of the bass,
I now see the game that we’re playing, was never about the chase.

She often thought that, in a morbid way, loving someone was like death.



The parts of yourself that you reveal and give, wrapped in silver tinsel and flowered paper, can be broken, stolen, or returned worse for wear.



Sometimes love waters the beautiful parts of people, allowing them to grow and twine their way into everyone’s smile. However, the same effect can be gained by the famine that rejection brings, drying the beautiful parts until they are no more than the 
husk of the darkest humanities seeping into snarls.



What makes love dangerous, is the allure of how easily you could get hurt, rejected, tossed carelessly aside, or broken, but you’re taking a chance on another human being having the compassion not to abandon you in the gutter along with every other heart they have wrung dry.



The trees we carve with hearts and initials are almost like our tombstones, waiting for the date to be scribed underneath, of when he stopped loving her eyes or she stopping drying his tears.



Our memories are deposited regretfully at the sites we have marked with our love, the diner where he first saw her drinking coffee, the library where they shared their first kiss, the grassy patch where they lounged and discussed their children and wedding. The memories and emotions we leave in these places are the fragrant lilies and roses stained with our tears that we drop at the grave site; allowing ourselves to be overcome with the sting of losing someone forever.



After you lose the emotional connection with someone that can rarely be re-forged, you go through the grieving process that’s special and selective for every individual. The length and intensity of the grieving stages varying on amount of betrayal, nostalgia, affection, broken trust, and anger that came with the initial passing. Sometimes it’s the denial stage that clings, your mind intent that they will walk back into your life next Tuesday like a maelstrom hasn’t wreaked your lives. 



So, in a morbid way, she often thought that loving someone was like attending a funeral to look at a mirror box, with your heart nestled inside someone else’s hands.