It comes naturally
to write down my thoughts
Even in the worst situations,
When my mind is in knots

No one to share with
Except the pencil and paper
My notebooks and notepads
Stacked as high as a skyscraper

Writers are the loneliest of people
Or so, I’ve been told
I believe the lonelier one is,
the more pens one holds

A wounded soldier
in a battle with his demons
The demons that possess hers
with merciless strength

She feels them in his touch
When chills trail her spine
In his breath
sharp against her marked skin

A heart pounding fantasy
is manifested with one
graze of the lips
against the nape of her neck

The night falling
over their bare bodies-
the only sign of passing time
within a torturous passage of sensation

Her eyes become riveted
On the motion of his fingers
As they slowly mark
her delicate skin

In each kiss of his ***** lips
her demons find strength
And she soars higher
than she ever imagined she could go

He claims her entirely
Her body, her soul
His strength is her weakness
And her mind takes the toll

And as broken as he was
all she saw was a flawless being
With mental shrapnel polluting him
And keeping him from healing