The fire you kindle within me,
lover mine,
whether you laugh or cry ile,
is a love that came early
travelling with dawn.

i'm tired,
so tired
all the time.
                                            i'm carrying a wrecking ball
                                            behind my back
                                            like it won't **** my spine.
a mask won't do,
now will it?
                                           you're too smart
                                           to fall for that trick.
a facade won't do
but will you stay
if i show you?

Renew the book,
you know, my favourite one.
I absolutely must read it again.

On the brink of tears,
it's nearly here;
The end of it all,
it's in my palm;
Metal on my fingers,
I'll pull the trigger;
Will I go blissfully,
will anyone miss me?
Only time will tell,
so I bid you farewell;
Now is my time,
I will finally die.

I glared, not cocky,
and pulled a card from the deck.
I hoped for a King,
but I pulled a Joker.
He laughed, too,
when I hoped for a Queen
and received only a Jack.
I hold no trump card up my sleeve,
nothing to save me,
not even an Ace.
I grimace, I surrender;
I accept my defeat.

your heart turns,
not because of pumping blood,
but because your heart has cogs and springs
that turn with a click
to keep you alive.

My mind, and all the knowledge and wisdom it holds.
My body, and all the scars of strength strewn across my skin.
My soul, and all the acceptance and love it holds.

I am at peace,
I am aligned
with all three crucial virtues;
you dare not show me your battle cry,
for I am a triple threat.

you frequent the cotton field,
letting calloused, bare feet
feel the softness, like wool
and let the stream
tickle your toes.

Hellacious fun,
not malicious, but mischievous
as our tricks bring annoyance,
we get a kick out of it.

With every ***** and every stitch,
you've embroidered my red string of fate
deep into my skin.

Once upon an August dusk,
I relished summer as the sun set
and a crescent moon took its place.

I was no longer thriving,
I was miserable.
It was time
for a differing adventure.
And so, impatient,
filled to the brim with gaiety,
I told you.
You acknowledged
my decision,
but will you leave
as I walk an unknown path
of obscurity?
Will you stay, support me,
love me?
Or will you leave?

a stabbing
a burning bubble in your chest
your heart fell to your stomach
and your vision is blurred

t'is the sensation, the desperation, of anxiety.

you kind of remind me of a turtle's shell.
you're colourful,
strong,
and you've always got my back.

You speak only words of pessimism,
a clear mind of prosperity
and optimism
unfamiliar to you.

You create a spark
with the friction of your hand
against mine;
with the friction of your lips
against my own;
you kindle a fire
within me,
as though your fingertips
were flint and steel.

I pluched a petal as white as a dove.
"She likes me," I exclaimed, a glint of hope
occupying my eyes.
Another dainty petal plucked.
"She likes me not," I pouted, my lips twitched
in disappointment.
The last petal plucked with the delicacy of silk.
"She likes me!" I smiled.
Oh, Marguerite, she must like me!
The daisy said so!

When my time comes
and I am to leave this life
for the one beyond,
do not bother letting my body
decay in a casket.
Please, allow me to be buried near the ocean,
and plant a lemon tree
above my heart.

red hair
white dress
she ran, ran as fast as she could
to the willow on the hill
that stood atop of an ocean of daisies.

you're sweet,
your soul dented
with every cruel poke
to your heart.
Yet, you remain so,
very so sweet.
Sort of like
honeycomb.

It's a special something,
a rarity,
to find a soul as good
as yours.

Let us drink mead
before the army we lead!

Let us drink port
before we trample a field of lungwort!

Let us drink ale
before we hear the melody of the nightingale!

Let us drink,
soldiers,
to a battle we will win!

I'll deny it,
I really will!
Still, you can't hide me
from the adrenaline,
the thrill.

So don't even try,
you're wasting your time!
Just wait and see,
you'll understand why.

you have a peculiar, welcoming scent,
but your love is beautifully rough
like leather.

His fingers caress skin like ivory,
tracing circles upon my back.
His touch, it has become languid,
yet it makes me feel beyond zealous.

The gruesome process
of saving the live of a human
on the brink of death
is challenging.

"What a miracle! I have been saved!"
they would say.

Correct,
you have been saved,
quite luckily.

However, it was no miracle
that saved you;
only concern and skill.

Please,
assure me,
inform me,
is this really true?

How did
this happen, I ask?
How did I come here
from out of the blue?

How far
did I drift on the sea?
How fair did
I sail?

I cannot believe
that this is reality,
it feels to much
like a fairytale.

I want to go places,
somewhere,
anywhere else
other than my native land
where my secrets lay buried
in the soil,
for it has seen my best
and my worst.

People mourn the souls that have left
to encounter what lay beyond
in the afterlife.
Staring at a stone and soaking soil with tears
leaving their beloved with nothing but a grimace.
Foolish.
People should pity the living
who cope with society.
They should pity those
who live without love.

In a group of six men,
only one raises his blade to his heart
pledging loyalty, dedication,
one man.
One man, is that all
I can count on?

I'm rather agnostic,
I believe not that violence
is the essential way to win.
You're rather licentious,
no bounds, you're not grounded
and violence will be your ultimate defeat,
not your victory.
Nevertheless, you take your musket to the battlefield
while I wave my white flag with strength,
not surrender.

I know what I saw,
what I felt,
it was dangerous,
mischievous.

So please,
I beg of you,
take my word as gospel
and hide from the shadows
that lurk within you.

The flame that burns
the purest shade of silver
sends a shiver of euphoria
down my spine,
to my brain,
a tingle of excitement
surging through my veins.

You seem to entertain the thought
that I belong to you
more than I belong to myself.

You seem to entertain the thought
that you have a lead on my soul,
nonetheless my mind.

You seem to entertain the thought
that I must please you
before I please myself.

You couldn't be more mistaken.

An unlikely pair,
a ***** scent at the nape of your neck
as I pull you into an embrace;
you smell of spearmint and oranges.

Fear will consume any who remain vulnerable,
Eternal ****** in the presence of death,
An inevitable fate to all who call themselves human,
Reminds us to cherish the little and lots that we have,
Lest we choose greed over graciousness,
Endless envy over gratitude,
Senseless with sadness until one sees the light,
Something we could all discover.

The clouds look like pigmented smoke,
magenta, navy, cyan and wine,
twilight is near and brisk breezes
bite my skin harshly.
And yet, my feet stay rooted in the field
cluttered with sunflowers that look to the sky,
their petals drifting in the wind,
creating a breathtaking contrast as they dance
among the stars.

You are the light in a room
when the sun is absent
and the moon is hidden
behind drifting clouds.

Welcome to the home of a narcissist,
extravagance not unheard of,
especially
when it comes to the mask
of your host.

When you hear the word "*****",
do you think of the whistling melody of an instrument?
Or perhaps the rythm of a beating heart,
and the pattern of breathing lungs.

The rain shatters as it falls to the cobblestone,
the scent of petrichor strong in the air.
The rain hits a red umbrella, held by a woman
with lips as red as her shield.
The rain lands on the roof of a telephone booth,
dribbling down the red door.
The rain hits a red double decker bus,
a calming melody for the people inside.
The rain hits the blood flowing from a lifeless corpse,
courtesy of an admirer
of Jack the Ripper.
It's a chaotic beauty,
it's crimson London.

in every fable, every tale,
there will be a gatekeeper
to the treasure you seek.
a valiant hero
you may be
but pass through the gates,
you need not strength
but skill.
a sharp, quick mind
to answer the impossible riddle
that keeps you from what you need.

An evolution of technology
has created a source of history,
information, questions
at your fingertips.

When technology and machines
begin to perish
will we thrive,
or suffer technical difficulties?

you don't gotta paint the sun,
but it would be nice.

I cannot shut my eyes,
I refuse another coat
of obscurity
unless I have a nightlight
to wash away
the darkness,
the unknown.