God chose me to go a different path,
to die in the arms of love.
To die at the feet,
of one who's eye's are pure,
and preached his humbleness.

She did not speak often.
Her lips need not, for her
body could talk.
Her lips dipped in the reddest
of all wines of the vineyard.
Figure so long.
Gentle but never frail.
She was grace,
in the purest form.

My heart was fatal,
but she,
she wore beauty as a shade of happiness.
A color not known by the human eye.  
Her body moved,
how it moved to a twinkle.
She spun me off my two knees.

With the cross of a ribbon,
and a finger of rouge to the cheek;
I was ready.
I prayed.
I pleaded
For my fragile heart to morph.
She flew.
She danced about my soul, and before the eyes of heaven..
I did could not imagine a death any greater..
than one of a love for my ballerina.

A whistle,
blows off the steam
heated inside the kettle.
Warmth is luscious and comforting.
The sensation that will soon puncture between your lips.
It comes to a boil,
the whistle grows greater.
Higher.
Oh that one night.
The note reaches soprano,
and continues.
Water rises to a boil.
Anger.
Only a sound that can make your ears throb.
Grasping the handle,
you pull the *** from it's key source.
Oh how you yearn to do the same.
Something this bitter,
needs a sweetener.
The warmth will exit.
Won't it need someplace to go?
Honey,
your warmth is forever welcome,
if you find yourself becoming cold on the boil.

Perhaps,
I'd release the negativity
of you,
by writing.
Page by page.
But that would waste too many lines.
Too many chapters.
Tree by tree.
Our oxygen is precious,
and you already suffocated my heart.

Fall apart.
As ripped pages,
in the worn book
perched on your shelf.
Begging for mercy.
Pleading,
to be opened.
Unhinged,
the lies pour,
into a bottomless pit,
where mercy is belittled.
You laugh,
because He  
He will salvage you.
The laugh of a scream,
can depict the sanity.

Your sheep,
dear sir,
are follow a flock of knave beings.
Preachings split and unopended wound.
Red,
the whale swallows,
an apple possesses.
The wound is in your mind.
In your heart.
Do you worship a fairytale?

You,
dismantled me.
Piece by piece.
Through all my love.
And I now,
accept you're right,
to hold the anger.
Love is superior.
Love is almighty.
Love is the grip,
I wish I knew..
how to hold on tightly.

I struggle to feel,
a sufficient mindset.
In a sea
of radiant creatures,
I am the unfit.
I breathe oxygen,
while they,
are capable of inhaling water.

I push the boundary,
while they have already crossed.
I starve,
while they are able,
to feed.
They have,
given themselves a sense
of beauty,
because their brain
is of one with their mind.  

I am not one
to understand.
I fail,
while they have just arisen.
Beauty is in the mindset.
Beauty has blossomed to a number.
I am not that number.