Push, bring in the light,
let ellipses fight

such a daring battle, to choose,
pleasure, or the night

the shield or the knight,
the steed or its might

whispering or shouting,
talking or jousting

grass or the darkness,
black air, or a full moonlight

passing you by, or drowning
in the midst of it.

my armor of life

is purely of light

I could hold her, before she bestows

eternity with beauty, merely by flight,

I've cast eyes on a curse,

i'm trembling unrehearsed,

this might be the beginning of the worst

spare me, call the hearse, tell them I'm not answering,

he might have truly succumbed to the words.

The butterfly with knives for wings,
she stings far more than she sings,
and her colours are pronounced because she's chosen to never hide.

A yellow stem, birthing her blend to the sunshine,
lively and fiery, an embattlement of emotions and potions,
the soul of a bird who no longer gives way to commotions.

Behind her, are her eyes, because that presence never hides,
fading like before, are only the flowers and green vines,
moving perpetually forward, her fury is now kind.

Give them peace, write them lines,
float amongst the beasts, let death be an unthought of rind,

Let wings flutter, be in who the ever-working bees confide.

cuz I got you in my pocket and I'm not gonna say,
that if I put you in a locket my heart wont stay,

so give me that shine, take the day away,
cuz baby all i do is pray,

oh my darlin, I swear that I'd never say,
go ahead and stay away, cuz I'll give you my heart,
and you can lock it away, just don't make me pray.

sing, song, fall along,
the edge of the sword,
or the world, perhaps because you are bored.
Clanging, banging, the soul till it's torn.

I am not my best, because you are abhorred,
your name's become a mist,
where it was as real as a sword.
Panging, slanging, words until I'm torn.

Eyes, curse, look at the floorboards,
about her face, a cigarette, the roses petals burn,
call them shadows, they are her aura,
they are doors.

On all fours, seeking your mouth,
like an insect crawling on the floor,
I am sick with, a thing I was equipped with,
a heart, fallen like a star, claiming it's only witness.

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.