Let's feel the steam,
turn it up,
slide your fingers across the sheen,
bliss,
being traced by your fingertips,
drawing to a kiss.

See through,
and you're the painting,
the wall is blue, we're the pink and
subtle red.

Those locks call my digits their keys,
but they're drenched and so I just squeeze,
I felt the wall tremble, with every nibble,
from careful artwork, to fierce scribbles.

I am a master at work, in the palm of his muse,
the oils and stream, our dance, we fuse,

She is a mastress at work, in the storm of his mind,
thunder and lightning, an unbothered vine.

Envelopes upon any place I befell.

Notes written for the sake of forsaking what I thought created but knew I'd never know.

Such are the stories of the taken, and those held by their own throats.

Whiles the heart styles itself like bacon, on a table where the heart has chosen to sow.

Empty chairs for miles, empty seats and seething seeds, making files on how to not to be.

All my loves, are stones that have landed where I have thrown, empty handed, giving only a fate to be bestowed.

Alone because it behooves me, it suits me like clothes that's too old to throw away.

Music playing but it isn't mine, and I have no say over what it says.

Betrayal is in my midst and underneath all my lines.

But because I know, I cannot say they are all lies.

Love has seemed to be the most perilous of ending themes, in that it begins but never flees past the initial scenes.

I am not alone, but accompanied by my mind.

Don't know what to feel, cuz you're lost in the fields,
and the roses don't want to talk no more,
You're my brother and I feel,  I hope your soul is outta steel,
because the weathers getting worse and the sweaters are a steal,
but the flowers don't want to talk anymore,
they just want you to kneel, take a breath, and make it last,
so the flowers cant ever talk anymore.

The lovers by the trees, skies blacker than not seeing,
and petals don't have any color anymore,
seem my mind for your sake, grab a hold and take,
what grip might slip, in the mind never shakes,
there's no colors to see, nor a mind to break,
the world isn't black no more.

In the clouds like a shield, in her eyes like a field,
and I stare but they don't blink anymore,
You're my lover and I feel, nothing like a colorless field,
I take your fingers, but they don't hold on, and you would never let go.

Times a goin, there's times that are still flowing, but the rhymes
don't bring me solace anymore.

I broke, ripped apart, tore even our hold, I'd swore our love would be
until we were old.

Forgive me, for the pain, forgive this feeble brain, cuz I lost myself
for nothing to gain.

Darling, old music don't sing no more, not around my parts, or around my heart, wife that ring looks cold, and you're gone.

why can i still see, and hear those birds, singing every morning, past all this hurt, how come the soul doesn't just explode.

Pain is no longer allegory, and I'm still just remaining me, oh baby,
how come, we don't just grow old.

The story looks at me, says in time and without even a please, but I, can only take so much more of this hold.

It's 8pm on a Tuesday,
she's getting drunk to sleep.

It's 9pm on a Tuesday, he's twenty and had a baby at noonday,
says he wants to die.

It's taking too long so she wants a break, guess there was never a thing to break.

Mother is sleeping and it's getting late, hope it's still much longer that I get to pray.

Time is ticking and I have no pay, what we all have in common is this and pain.

Of the ugliest things in the world, is how often something
becomes nothing.

How often things are laid to waste, because of a face,
or wrong kind of lace.

As if the hours before were no kind of trace, of a thing at all,
like the misery these things could never solve.

All of a sudden, the mystery is gone, the story, the want of it, is history, and you continue listening to the old song.

Toss me to the sharks, for such is the throng, of men, and mice,
of women and lice, of vultures that don't sleep in the nights.

Call me an armored woman, of beautiful armor, let her see glory in my sword being eternally gone.

Have a sweet place waiting, have the voices be cheers, have the misery become a song.