He told me his love was like a religion: his heart a god and his embrace a prayer. He told me he'd shed some light on my dim world…

He didn't know that God has never been on my side and the stars had never aligned to answer my prayers. He didn't know that I liked the mind games I played and that a love like his was one to keep distanced.

Some people,
are nearly indescribable.
But too prominent in the mind,
not to make the attempt.
I guess,
I guess I'd say she walked like sunshine,
and spoke like rain.
Where she strolled it was warm,
all the evidence could be seen in the people she met.
No one walked away without a smile.
When she spoke,
they all listened.
A gentle voice that hit you like soft drops,
in the summer.
Walking away I felt like I was watching the sun set;
disappointed in the loss of light,
but happy in knowing I'd witnessed something beautiful.

Do her eyes still change,
to slate grey in anger?
Do they still turn to blue when it rains,
and when she cries?
I always tried to tell her,
those demons would hang her.
"You're just bound and determined,
to decline til you die."

I rise before the sun,
to start my days.
An old night owl ready
to ***** the early bird,
for the worm.
Too much left to be done,
to risk slipping into the grip,
of slumber.
I'll catch up on rest when I'm dead.

Sometimes,
I wish I could quit.
The drinking,
the smoking,
the maybe-too-frequent drug use.
I know I'm just chasing the high I got,
from you.
But you're gone and not coming back.
"A man's gotta do,
What a man's gotta do."
At least that's what they tell me.

Write me a poem that makes my cheeks burn
So that my only concern is how the world knows
all the ways you can tell me you hate me

Read me the lines of venom you spit when you speak
Because who cares about the tears that stain my skin?
My cheeks are a masterpiece of old emotion

But who cares?
When the words you write make people feel alive
They don't have time to ponder over my sarrow

I want to try and understand how you think
Why my voice grates your ears
Why my face conjures red infront of your eyes
Until you **** me with each cruel word
Your sharp edged pen now rested
My blood dripping from the tip

Write me a poem that makes me cry
All your cruelty wrapped into a small package
Written on old napkins or preformed on stage
Either way the audience claps
Or a waitress cleaning her tables at night will cry in awe

And my cheeks will burn red

There is an enchanting place
Timeless in the forever of the night
Where stars shine in unclear skies,
the moon is radiant,
celestial light permeate the shadows, exhaling twilight.
And in this place of the past, present, and future,
in the drunken haze where I am drunk enough,
but not too drunk,
to write,
I live.

It never was that I loved a cigarette,
more than you.
Just that I knew every morning,
when I rolled over,
my smokes would still be on the nightstand.
But your keys would be gone.