Your smile lights up my dark heart like a flash,
My giggle makes your eyes flutter and your nose scrunch up
Our happiness infects each other’s souls but,
Your heart is just out of reach.

Your hand fits in mine, like the last piece of a puzzle.
Your fingers cradle mine like a babe in their Mother’s arms
Our finger can always lightly touch but,
Your heart is just out of reach.

Our bodies fit in your bed, like it was designed for us.
Under you I feel nothing but pleasure
Our bodies have no issues but,
Your heart is just out of reach.

In true biology your kisses sends oxytocin through my brain
Much like with each touch of my tender lips blood heads downwards
Science is on our side but,
Your heart is just out of reach.

They say the heart gets what the heart wants but,
You and I will never be simple
And I’m sick of losing soul mates
So I will stand by you, body to body
Even though your heart is just out of reach.

I don't get offended when people criticise me because nobody can hurt me more than i've hurt myself.

He says,
    In your lovely eyes you have
    a combination of blue and grey,
    a pair of strong magnets,
    and a ton of sunshine smiles.

    You have gait and posture of a Pine,
    movements of a classical dancer
    spontaneity as of waterfall
    and matching beauty of the nature.

    I love to have your company.
    We may toss the world on our terms,
    rainbow will be around us
    can you hold my hand for life?

She says,
    You are a tall and handsome man,
    boiling with dazzling flamboyance,
    of all the stallions of the college
    you are old tortoise.
    Your father is a Plutus- god of wealth
    you fly in high branches.
    For Love's sake please let me move
    in my rustic way.

    14.12.2016

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will never die (quoted)

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
embodied in words

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
stretched over lines and pages

Now,

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their untamed mind
becomes an asylum where
words smash themselves
on the walls of their brains
summoning
their hands just
to let them out

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their addiction
to falling in love is amplified
and when they love
OH THEY LOVE,
they get a certain high
that numbs their inhibitions to reality
and shuns logic to a very far away land

they  reach a mental state
that lifts you to high enough
just to see a glimpse of their world
just to taste a drop of their
potion
but not all of it

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their eye *****
birth and harness flames that burn the coldest
of hearts and warm the strongest
of selves

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their mind soaks up
every bit, every breath
every call, every cell
every touch, every talk
just to embroider it
in the quilt of thought
that's weaving endless stories about you
in their mind

What if a writer falls in love with you?
God have mercy on their soul
for their craving becomes dangerously
intensified, wrapping itself
to their muses,
giving them the sole purpose
of existing

For the more they love
the more stories they write
and more they feel
the longer
they
live

...my mom tells me as she tucks me to sleep.
Her eyes are bright blue with similarities to the Tenerife Sea. Solid, bright but with an icy touch. I believe her.
Then my eyelids flutter open after a kiss and I stare into a young man’s brown eyes. Solid, deep, full, sincere, warm. I trust him more than I should.
My own eyes aren’t that easy to decode. They’re a complete mess.
A chaos of color conflicting with eachother, instead of settling on one.
Blue when I wake up,but  green when I step outside.  
If eyes really are the windows to the soul what does that say about me?
Am I splatters of different colors floating around like petals in a mysterious endless lake in the forbidden part of the forest?
Am I a rainbow only to be seen clearly when both rain and sun hits upon me?
Am I a bouquet filled with different flowers plucked different places with different stories?
Forests are easy to get lost i.
Lakes are easy to drown in.
Rainbows are not tangible.
Flowers are pretty but their lifespan is short after having been plucked.
I wish I wasn’t a chaotic mess.
That I wasn’t torn in between the things I want, the things I can, the things I have, the things I want to be.
I hope that one day my eyes and mind will make up their will.
But for right now, I my eyes may stay a chameleon.
Only seen by those who really see.

I never said life was beautiful
I'm hanging on by a thread
The closer I get to love
The closer I feel to death

You're so lovely, my darling
If only I could be lovely for you
Patronize myself, I would never
It's just that I looked into the mirror
Realized that I deserve better

Pack up the old clothing, throw it in a box
Remove it from our room, I start the car
Back out from the drive, you beg me to stop
But I carry on, the road as my drum
My heart and the journey, two become one

I stop in the next town, adopt myself a dog
learn to settle down. Force myself to sleep
So I can fall into dreams, it isn't always easy
I'm still searching for what I need
Maybe write myself a story, sell it with my head
Leave my heart on the kitchen counter
Forget my fear and my dread

Beds still haunt me, I'm just being honest
Each picture on my wall reminds me of you
Every night spent staring at the ceiling is the most familiar thing I do
Oh, they say that there is truth in what you used to knew

Pack up the old clothing, throw it in a box
Remove it from our room, I start the car
Back out from the drive, you beg me to stop
But I carry on, the road as my drum
My heart and the journey, two become one

The wind is blowing the past back to me
The broken fights and sleepless nights
existential dread you never seemed to believe
Complicated simplicity led to our demise
Darling, accept the past and move on
Before the future is long gone

Packed up my old clothing, put it in a box
removed my heart from the room, started the car
Backed out from the drive, you begged me to stop
But I carried on, the road as my drum
My heart and the journey, two became one.

Conversation with one's reason is a road without error

A writer's
worst curse
comes in the
form
of apathy
and that my darlings
is the worst kind
of death