Mild blisters,
create their own balm.
Everything heals.
Everything is as exactly as it is meant to be.
You are fearful,
I understand that.
Why though?
You have blisters,
this is obvious.
Blisters create their own balm,
and as a fellow human-being,
I love you.  
You will heal.
Don't let insecurities discern you.
Everyone doubts what gives them strength.
Breath.
Take it in.
Your life,
you have one.
Live it.

I woke up this morning,
and looked out of my window;
A sky filled with crystallized oceanic hues created a heavenly glow upon all that I have ever learned.
I am unshakable.

Small Amber bursts of idealism,
spark a chain reaction among the masses.
Structured tradition moving in the right direction,
right behind them,
never to show again.
Discovery!

You wrecked my right to say I indulge in purity,
and to be honest you're the blackest wolf I've ever seen,
scare me 'till I shake.
Bruise the perfect little heart that my mommy cultivated for me.
I'll bruise that perfect little logic of yours.
You're a dark, dark man;
I've never felt so inclined,
to write of my impure thoughts;
To commit such a sanguine ******,
of the mind.
It hurts for a moment,
until I feel your hips against mine,
and fantasies ensue.
They are not of me,
or the thought of me,
rather the satisfaction of an act.
Legal matters become blinded when they see such intensity,
bear me the intensity,
in your gaze that is so ******* within itself.
In between my thighs is where all my dreams are realized,
because of you;
All I have,
is regret.

I am an earthy creature,
rooted firmly below the oaks of my surreal forest.
My persona is that of something calmer,
serene,
beckoning.
The water pumps quickly through my veins,
sporting my impulse,
emotion,
polarity.
This water causes the passion to burn in my eyes,
pay no mind,
to the intimidating fire,
that blazes beneath,
the soothing green.
It is but only natural to discuss what is believed,
and what isn't.
I don't spit fire,
but it dances within me none the less.
The wind blows lightly,
through my copper ringlets,
so refreshing;
an odd feeling, indeed!
Sometimes I forget to breath,
the gift of life.

Leave me to be young,
to shrivel.
A white gardenia always must wither,
and shrivel;
Die.
Leave me to marry,
to love.
A heart can pump alone I assure you,
leave me to revoke my own sins.
A lost cause you take me,
and your silence will break me.
Your pesticides will **** off anything natural I possess!
A White Gardenia must shrivel and,
die.
Success is what disillusions me,
in pretense I fight.
A war on egos, envy and such!
It is all I know in my mechanical set-up,
is to follow the world in it's redundant tide.
A White Gardenia can bloom,
it can shrivel,
wither.
A White Gardenia always must die.

These lingering days contribute to the weariness I've recently cultivated.
Doubt has become my main driving force--
I am tired.
Much more cannot be explained in such a place,
when all has been lost and I teeter in surreal dazes.
It is a thick black fog that captures me every time;
And where would I take refuge without it?
Compare me to the Serpent,
you can.
You are obviously misguided.
It was the hand of a harsh man who sculpted me into this kind of form--
not love itself.
So don't blame her,
and don't label me.
She is tired,
just as I am tired.
'A neutral conclusion to a binding tale;
You could say.
Exhausted lady love has had enough.