She sat in the old armchair,
In the winter of her life.
The last of her sisters;
A once comfortable wife.

With bony white finger
She traced the pattern of her chair;
Withered from age
Like the strands of her hair.

For her kids had come and gone.
Her fears, she passed them on.
An ok husband she had;
A time long ago, a time not so bad.

'Love' and spouse,
Kids and house
Were the choices she made.
Unbeknownst to her,
The passion she had
Was bound to fade.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That man in the corner,
At the end of his days.
A bottle of whiskey;
A familiar haze.

His cold empty house
Devoid of all life.
Followed his heart;
Never took he a wife.

Passion and success
(which he had to confess)
Were great (for awhile).
These were the choices that he made.
Unbeknownst to him,
His desire for love would never fade.

At the end of the night
All wrapped up in warm covers and plight,
He contemplated the answers to his
Internal fight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tell unto me
Which one was right?

Soft curves on smooth skin showed little but a turquoise soul without sin. A sunny heart with no flaws, it was strong. The burning started soon after, a light tingle tingle, nervous laughter. Push away, close your eyelids tight, button. It will go away with the light button. So they say.

My core began to melt through my swollen fingers, down the drain. Then the scorch marks came! Craters, meters deep where it would be easy for sadness to seep and blackness to creep. I'm ******* sick of counting sheep so let me sleep let me sleep.

All that was left for the turquoise soul was crawlspace. Turquoise turns to green and quickly there is no more balance only mean. And it eats at me and I can't see so the worms and rats burrow inside and impatiently I wait for the pain to subside. Twirl my hair, feed me lies, take my hand and smother my cries.

A tear falls softly on your cheek and the guilt in my bones makes my heart weep. The fluid inside begins to boil and suddenly I'm smothered by the blood and the soil. The worms are there too, they're everywhere. I scream and beg...but worms don't care.

Chilled to the bone, I scratch and pull but then I can't move my coffin is full. Little dove, rosy cheeks, no more tears for weeks and weeks. Stop your turquoise **** it dead. Go to bed with GREEN in your head!

Ruffles your hair in the soft of the summer patch, sunbeams cling to you like honey then later cling to my ever growing hopes of happy happy love. silly silly silly winky-**** he bruises you with stains of purple-pink which later fade to yellow like 'le soleil' friction burns will come from 'le soleil' and linger and cling to your chest like an arrow through the heart. heart-throb. you belittle me one too many times doodle-bug.

Rosie roses are nice to fancy and fathom but thorns only puncture pale skin and drain you of your ruby juice until you are nothing but a dusty, hollow skin shell. pale naïve and empty to be filled with dreams, desires and demands as well. hate is not easily boiled in your kitchen kettle water but I think that's a good thing munchkin.

Hold back your disdain bite your tongue crack your teeth and do not repeat what your brain whispered it has been lying to you since the day you were born you silly silly silly... this is a ripping seam in your moonbeam and your emotions begin curdle and to leak out like fish but then you remember crying is okay but **** such salt water back in and say naught. distraught.

At witching hour it will come at you a cold sweat in the night where your fingers tingle and your meat twinkles faces before you with holes for irises. they have been sent to inject mishap and upside down rainbow viruses. when was the last bedtime you had cloudless soul with organic thoughts? oh fleshly girl tip-toe lightly as blood trickles down your ego and melts it away to stardust to form another cheeky doodle-bug munchkin grin