How did it happen?
I didn't even like you at first,
and now you're the first thing I think of when I wake up,
if I wasn't already dreaming of you while I slept.
When I look into your eyes I feel short of breath.

I want you the way suicidals want death.

But I cannot have you, and I resent the fact
that you somehow stole my heart and now won't give it back.
And yet, if I had you I know I wouldn't want you anymore.
I'd come to loathe you in the way that a child hates chores.
But you've melded to my mind;
you're burned into my brain.

I want you the way that a moth wants the flame.

It's a paradoxical ache.
A feeling so strange.
In the English language it doesn't even have a name,
but I believe this is what the french refer to as
the exquisite pain.

Topics!

We write of vaginas and old Morris Minor's,
Of flowers and mud.
Of crosses and blood.
Where angels and devils cross paths in our pens.
Temples and stables.
Fiction and fables.
We lay cards open wide,
splayed over our tables.

Sometimes of crying and lying and dying.
Of love that we found.
That which we have lost.
But we will keep trying.
No denying at all.
We're having a ball.

We pen tales of terror in world's mad distortion.
As the world scrapes nearer to each days abortion.
Write of myth and orange pith.

We scrawl what we scrawl in the hope that it's real.
Or maybe its what we saw in minds eyes.
In a darkened world of what ifs and whys.
One crazy man and one crazier chick.

All we both say hey, hey.
Offensive, defensive.
When time she merits.
Whatever fits at that time.

Of maladies and passions sprouts.
In words of others voice,
Never always mother tongue
Hell how we do play.
As to the Gods and Goddesses of poetry
We the two of the twenty do pray.
VVV Glory to poetry no matter what way!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Your eyes; a dark abyss,
Your back to the grapefruit sky.
Your heart is a closed fist,
And i cant help but wonder why?

When you touched me, with those thin red lips,
I was shaking in my skin, holding on to your hips.
Won’t you bite me? Send shocks down my studded back.
You know, when we kissed you stole my breath-
And gave me an asthma attack.

Do you see? With your light brown eyes;
That I want YOU and not your bashful disguise.
For every hair, that blows in this November wind,
Kissing the smile you try so hard to hold in,
And I hope that my actions tell you, what I should’ve said.
I think I might just love you-
                 But you’re probably better off dead.

Choking, i spat out a piece of my lung,
Into the white porcelain sink,
Then after brief pause, I lit up another one.
And used the black tar as ink.