It has been ages,
Whole geologic stratos of time arrayed by color and not by year,
Since I have breathed deeply and loved warmly and felt that a fire was burning for me in someone's bedroom window.

But I feel the moment approaching,
And though scared and unsure I may be,
I ache in wait for the inconsolable events about to hit,
Knowing that there is new life during and after it has come.

My guilt is a sad song that is catchier than Spanish influenza
I press it down and up, like levers on a strange machine
But the fluctuations are constant,
Always teeming high and sweeping low,
But never
Ever
Gone.

I guess it is conscience,
My moral discontent,
Which breeds this inner animosity,
But this is only data
And would be best used to implement a constant rotary of ways to help others
Rather than damning myself.

A flame
soft, unmanned
free to flicker
in a capsule

Intrigued
how it melts
but I'm
**** caught
in my middle

Breach the boundary
light blue colour is
patent source of
our futality

Pulped to desire
a deposit of
labour tides
that flow on the outsides

Stimulated by
awful timing
I am gentle,
courted fuelled
toxicity

Burnt wrist
blatantly lying
hostile for hearts
in respiratory

Returned to
the bone of light
illuminate my
skeletal plight
among the dark

Sewn yourself through
not a part left that hasn't
been touched by you
your embroidery is lovely
it colors my face
it paces my hate
it swallows my fate
not a needle I wouldn't take
by you
I'm an addict, I can see that now
happily inebriated
by your loves cloud
indited it'd be, out loud
but captured close and enshroud
of perfect pink dreams
I'm afraid of crashing, stinging
afraid all they'll be bringing
pain, disconnect, heart wreaking
when they canter away
your pictures return
new, beloved, gay
I am pound again and again
by delicate hands
holding needle and thread
love has been like a quilt
where I am your mural
forever colored
by being your girl
and you're covered
hopefully I'm more
than your in love drunkard