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Lightning playful through a poisoned bloodstream,
Veins on torturous, burning fire.
Whispers through my home, hauntings of the faux trauma and unresolved crucifix standing ready to bear.
Left unfulfilled by the crushing unrefusable statement of self sabotage.
The flaming star of the avatar, the nomadic extreme of the eternal hellscape that resides in my hunted stomach.
The predator and the prey, predetermined and praying.
Just another eternity until the monsoon departs, the season ended. From there the calm waves will carry me to shore.
The dark restful, kiln, I am your dough, as I am your clay, a grateful panettone.
Mold me, endow me the drug, the decree, the great recipe of relinquishment.
No Elysium, I denounce Gehenna,
I crave nothing but the sweet, serene, comatose clemency of unending hibernation.
Cold blooded sunbathing in the radiant rays of the great bird's wings.
The boiling embrace of his feathered fire.
The brutal, unrelenting, chaotic, climactic, adrenalitic pull into the hot murky depths.
Scald me, lash me, revive me in death.
For I can wait no longer.
Living in fear of the Reaper is worse than The Harvest its self.
So come unto me my lord, my peace,
And engulf me in the ******* rest of departure.
Pretty hot. Haha get it .a ha ha
The letter I never sent,
I write my valentine on your beating heart,
And send a perennial prayer,
That you could know without knowing.

Petals on your doorstep,
But no signature,
Pink Rosehip on your bedsheets,
Spying through your window blinds,
At someone unreal .

A label that travels as my desperations move it,
How I value the sick,
The unnatural,
The corpse and the consent.

The tenacious nature of a train,
With a hundred destinations,
None finite,
Moving and passing every station,
Leaving like it never stopped,

The will to pull me off it,
The weight of every expectation,
The ommitance after the deprication,
And the incommodious silence after the exposè.

I lust for that iced libation,
The roseate water of ivy and redemption,
A clay to fit inside my insatiable skin hunger,
A welcomed error of continuity in my own beliefs.

The rain of rapture will flood the streets to the chorus of weeping,
The composition of the crestfallen,
And my perennial prayer,
For an ardent antiphon.

-Unabaitingly, The Romantically Inept
Please come and find me
Playful whispers in the dark.
Who am I calling?
I suppose...
My baby,
Can I call you baby?


Oh sweet lullabyes in the night,
Hold me tight in constriction.
Squeeze a little bit tighter, love.
I don't know how much time I have left.
Delusional!
Oh bitterly hopeless
Alone on the void
Scratching at air for any oxygen my depraved lungs can find,
Suffocating on your love,
Choking on your divinity.

Oh darling,
My sweet crimson lover
Dancing on the bridge of death at the break of dawn,
You swing me in your arms,
Torched tongue behind your tight toothed grin,
Your hair grows stars, and your arms bend time,
my fatal partner in a tango to the edge of the earth.

Darkness as you torture me
Wrench my soul willingly
Foolishly and ignorantly
Pulling my strings
Through obligation
And autopilot daydreams
Painting patterns
On an inky black sky

Orange slices on existential beach
Sparkling warm coast,
The cosmos like a bright sunny day above.
Bitter ashes mix and churn with the sand,
I'm sinking,
Quickly,
Help,
Help me!
But you just watch.
Mournfully?
Guiltily?
I sink until I hit the bottom
And there I lie,
Falling asleep to my tears.


The zodiac locked fate,
Fish and Virgins! Fish and Virgins!
Poets and failures,
Academics and frauds,
Spring and summer to autumn and sadness,
My eternal indigo diary,
My blueberry lipstick,
Leaving light stains on my love-lorn letters,
Lavender scattered in the envelope,
Mailed to you on Sunday,
Delivered along the milky way,
A sickly jazmine blend,
Of cherry blossom confusion.

Blood red,
Soaked through,
The same old colours fill my thoughts.
So many clouds for a sunny day.
Raining garnets,
Thick and playful,
Flooding the streets with sweet poison,
Bathing in my deep obsession,
Drowning in my addiction.

Waiting emptily,
In an empty white asylum,
With an empty mind,
Waiting for you,
My answer,
My meaning,
My red and blue jumper.
Not standing up to stretch,
But sitting still,
Letting my bones grow stiff,
To creak under my weight,
Like an old back porch,
Made for a pair of old lovers,
Desolate and dilapidated,
Withered by neglect,
Empty.

A pointless pray for solace,
In hope you will come,
My prince of milk,
My fifth science,
My escape from this never ending sporadic spiral down into the murky, dusty, purple fog of asinine and inane.
My peace of mind.
My baby.
Can I call you baby?
September Roses Dec 2018
Lemon drop notes play across my lips
Spring is here
The grass is velvet green
White gold dances in our eyes as we look towards the sky
We sip sweet tea
And listen to an old radio
Out on the back porch
Staring over the fence
Sugary laughter comes from the fields
The light comes early
And the birds sing like honey
Oh spring
Isnt it sweet
September Roses Dec 2018
You'll notice him in the busy streets of Peru, dodging vendors and laughing like the sun.
You'll notice her at a small diner past 2 a.m, lost in thought, meloncholy notes on her smile.
You'll notice him on a street corner wearing bold colours and singing
about the lives he's lived and the fools he's loved.
You'll notice her on mountain peaks, soaking in the wind with feathers in her hair.
You'll notice him weaving flower crowns and writing in his journals, squinting into the hot sky with dew on his lips.
You'll notice her kneeled on the side of the road, comforting a small animal she found with the voice of sweet honey.
You'll notice them, dancing at sunset, colours streaking across their face.
You'll notice them running through meadow fields in the early hours of the morning.
You'll notice them laughing like the wind, smiling like velvet, with whispfill sparks in their eyes as they sit by the waves at dawn.
They are the sun and the moon
The sky and the sea
Fire and the ice
They're not likely to tell you who's who,
In fact they're not likely to tell you who they are at all.
But even without the spoken reveal
Even without the clarity of meaning,
I promise that when you see them.
You'll notice
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