serial killer love 3/1/17
you've never killed anyone but you did ****** my sense of being, my hope in security, and any trust i still had left.
you never touch dead human flesh, but you made my skin melt, my heart skip, and my lungs gasp for air.
you'd never admit to it, but everything you said held my heart and your silence ripped it out.
did it feel good? making me feel bad.
do my tears get you off?
does my incapability to move on keep you going?
you are a person, but also a ****** weapon.
so next time you rip a girl apart, please stay to stitch her back together.
serial killer lover 3/2/17**
but it wasn't even love at all. it was all part of the game you were playing. you are simply a serial killer lover, and nothing more. you break hearts to add to your collection, but you have no recollection of the bruised bitten bodies you leave behind on your search for warm flesh.
the sun was just rising
i too was just rising
yet my spirit was falling
my bags were packed
and my mind was set
on a course that lacked
the verve of earlier days
one nostalgic look back
and i really was done
the terrain had changed
and so i hit the trail
raising only a whiff of dust
Dear Friends on hellopoetry, I've had a super time here and everyone has just been so superb, but i'm beginning to feel the blues of diminishing returns. Allow me to quote from Leonard Cohen's last letter to the love of his life, Marianne, "See you down the road."
We run with flames in our hearts
in our hands
in our voices
in the lands,
We stand on the rocks letting people know that
we are here
that we don't stand for us
that we stand for them
we've—loved the soil
every inch of its worth—here.
And to think that we'd step off our Rock, now?
For every one of us that They knock down
They exude monsters out of the cracks in Their teeth
They've created unspeakable wars
Let us be.
Silver and Gold will lose their luster. Jewels will not sparkle forever. Treasures can be stolen or tarnished by the passage of time. Life long memories on the other hand cannot be taken by a thief, nor can time erase the impact of love given to create them. The smallest acts of kindness and caring with family, is often the most precious thing. It is a treasure that cannot be given a value. It is part of who you are and what you pass on in life.
The colours of my thoughts
It lies deeper than
Carried from beneath consciousness
To be in love
To be loved
To be love
I could ever
22nd February 2016
i lose myself in the titter of your raindrops tonight
who listen to me more intimately
than any being ever could
for your dark a.m. streets breathe
a musky scent exactly like my broken love's lips
and a sip of you is fresh as your wry scarlet sunrise
which whispers secrets of espresso and brick
and aged thrice-thrifted books and the dim glow
of ***** neon signs who call to no one in particular;
during lonely nights when you drink me in, i melt
into a solace of wet pave and unlit alleys
and emerge among sinuous swirls of painted walls
and hazy lights, a blur of chilly comfort and
being perfectly lost between
you and the moon
for a city i am in love with
thanks for healing some broken parts
I feel an enormous serenity - floating in some lover's limbo.
Spectate the scene in silhouette.
While bittersweet coffee cuddles my palette.
I can finally breathe.
So why do I feel like a survivalist?
On a long haul where perceptions hinder.
For now I stay floating.