How many punches can the human heart take before breaking? How many strikes can there be before a person is down? Maybe she could tell you.
She’s a player, and I’m not talking baseball. She plays with hearts, she plays with emotion until the emotion is drained and you are most vulnerable. She is a demon of heaven but a hellion angel.
Wonderfully wizardry but her spells send a mind into self-tension.
And I have been bewitched.
Bewitched by her fragrance, by the taste of her lips, by her mind and what I thought was the real her.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was actually hypnotized by this beauty. Maybe she wasn’t who she was, but I would’ve thought I was who I was supposed to be.
Who Am I? Who was she? Where am I in this world of deceit and trickery?
A chef of misery, cooking up a fresh batch with every new victim, so sensual yet so senseless
The touch of duplicity.

My heart is still warm when it’s handed back to me
I guess it wasn’t enough to guarantee a love.
Who knew love would be so expensive.

I wish I had some intimacy
I wish I had that feeling of decadence again.
I just want to feel the love

My hands shake too much
Spoiled with the spell of calm that came over them when they would grasp a counterpart
A counterpart now missing

My tongue would savor the taste that stayed on my lips
Spoiled by chocolate sweet kisses
Kisses now missing

My arms used to ache
the feeling of someone in between them continuously
But now they hang by my side and keep to themselves, lonely.

I just miss the security.
The luxury of the life
I miss the taste of affinity that still bubbles on the cushion of my lips
That time when my heart was in decadence.

Every time we talk, this cherry child has me hypnotized
Empty eyes and beautiful voice has my mind tingling
Itching like my palms.

Every time she comes in the room, the air gets colder
Leopard-skin lover with a pompous soul and a vicious need for attention
I am her mediator, showing the love she desires and cutting through previous facades
Calming like my kisses.

Every time we lock eyes, this being of wonder gets me star-struck
Woman of wonderlust, being of beauty with hips so vibrant as to cause movement
Dancing like my footfalls.

Sensuous beauty with the world on her back and a lot on her mind
Sitting on child swings like kindergarteners and just thinking of her past lives
I place my hands over yours as I guide you through the air with each push
Swinging like my fingertips.

Crazy as it is I’ve made no choices, as the loves I’ve felt were real
But there’s something about helping a person who is down
Deep conversation turned theory on love turned burden upon burden’s release
And when all is said and all is done, there’s nothing left to do but listen to the music of us two.
Sitting on the swings listening to the rhythm of the air, my love, I must choose you.
For no other can offer the sweet satisfaction of watching a young bird soar through the skies and be her wings, no other can offer the kiss of one who’s done it least, no other can show such truth.
So I’ll always cherish those talks on the swing-set and the problems uncovered as we chatted the day to dusk.
Steady pushing you higher and higher, letting you escape the hell and tears and lifting you.
Ever Swinging like my fingertips

Heartache Of Rescue

I save so many souls on a daily that I forget about my own.
But I’m sick of saving hearts.
Only time can tell how long it is before the knight in shining armor is saved by a princess.
And maybe on that day, my heart will be spared as a token of gratitude
Rather than a practice for abusers.

my wishes of clarity aren’t answered in time, I am in a state of longing.
I am a drizzle.
My mind is full of fantasies. My heart full of accidental burdens.
I am now the rain.
It won’t clear, I still feel that longing, It begins loathing in my heart.
My rain pours and I turn into a storm.

A being formed on the verge of insanity and off the coast of tornadic, and a mind on the verge of chaotic.
I calm.
Leaves falling to the ground as my unforgiving rains relent.
But it is merely momentary. For the thoughts always return.
The rains pour as my mind clouds, the winds rise as my heart sinks. My eyes water as the thoughts circle around and around in my consciousness.
I am a hurricane
Let me whine on my via dolorosa.

I’ve grown to like her body, but can’t fall in love with her mind.
We’re not on an equal playing field, no love for the lover, but it gets odd every time we talk.
So we stay quiet.

Originally, I could make love to her mind while we gave thoughts that pierced the order of the world’s system, but I can’t even sense a happiness anymore. We’re no longer a pair, no longer a connection.
We are mismatched.
I feel it, but can’t touch it on my plane of existence.
Raindrops drum on the base of my window sill as I write to the winds, words not flowing well enough so I force them as I force my tears back into my skull.
I’m a timebomb- limited and dangerous, and, sooner or later, I’ll explode.
I taste something bitter between my lips as I make winds flow around me. With my thoughts on my sleeve, I begin to feel
Swooned.
My winds block out the sounds of her
Tears wash away her long lost kisses
And my aching heart throbs enough to get rid of the pain of the thought of her nails on my cheeks as we stared into each other’s souls.
I gave you my heart, love. What was it you planned to do with it besides break it? I wanted the love that you could provide, I wanted to hold hands and speak sweet nothings, I wanted to argue about dumb things and hear you claim to hate  me before we’d make up and become best friends again.
But I was wrong.
Maybe it was bad luck, maybe it was Karma, but I was wrong about you. You weren’t the fantasy I thought you were, you were a chip in my armour that I had no clue about. You were my freedom, but you revoked yourself.
You were my love.
And now, love, I’m afraid we’re in a state of afterlove. I love you, but don’t and so forget my words of sweetness, my ****** jokes or, as you put it, quirky personality.
Your space in my heart has been revoked.

The sun’s light drips off of my body like bright water
Liquid essence falling to the grounds by my sneakers and bathes the pavement.
I’m at a burn in heart.
The life drains from me slowly like needles in veins, but it’s not a medical extraction. I can feel something rising in me that isn’t being elevated. I feel the fear of change but the excitement of anger.
I feel hate.
Who do I hate? None, but I somehow still feel it. Empty words with a full mind, blunt remarks with a sharp intent. A passive aggression beyond comprehension.
I feel her hands on my cheeks as we kissed before she left. I could feel her love as she says she loves me, but I feel I’ve given her too many chances, I feel I’m in a situation of double jeopardy. So I let her go.
And I haven’t bounced back.
Now I miss my honeybee, but she can’t know the emotion dedicated to her or the power she unknowingly has on me. She can bring me to the ground in a matter of seconds, and yet, she stays to play with pityness and pride stings as she flaunts her new lovers.
And so I melt like metals in a furnace.
They say a man isn’t supposed to cry, they say he has to be as strong as steel. But I do cry, and when I do
My hard tears drip off of my cheeks like
Dripping silver

Brand new night

New lovers every night, their memories strewn about my heart
Like poppy seeds.
Constantly changing in a never- ending rotation cycle of light and dark
Like day and night.
We meet, greet, know, and immediately love. It makes me feel good to have the attention at times.
But I never quite keep it.
Even when I have it, there’s always something wrong.
I leave her for her
But then leave her for another…. And then have that one break up with me.
It makes me feel
Tempered.
Makes me feel like even when I find my counterpart, there’s something that’s missing or holding us in a place where secrets may be common knowledge, but then common knowledges are secreted.
Everyone knew. Friends, parents, and even complete strangers… But the only person who didn’t know was me.
Is this a curse?
I open my heart for yet another, memories strewn over my soul. And once again, I think I know love.
But yet again, I fall short by mere millimeters and crash down back to the reality of my situation.
I’m desperate for a recreation.
I knew love one day, and maybe will one day soon enough
But I’m still on the edge of my mind contemplating who shall victimize my heart again in the toxins of the addictive chemical considered romance on this
Brand New Night.

Dust—press play

Dust
Unwanted fragments of a greater item. I am a fragment of dust to life, but not a nuisance to myself or anyone else… So why do I feel unwanted?
Play
Several explanations for a relatively short word. I could simply be joking around, but I don’t feel so comico at the moment. I could be addressing an issue through performing arts, maybe even enjoying some sort of activity like I did when I was a youthier youth.
Press
Could be the media, could be a motion done involving applying pressure to something, could be an action when applying pressure to someone.
I am a partical of dust
Forced pressure surrounding an otherwise struggles form
Addressing issues noted as things rarely cared about.
But that’s not where this poem’s name came from.
I seek acceptance like a homeless dog, but I still have some sort of vibe of emptiness.
Like Air.
Though the air isn’t empty, the air is teeming with life that we literally couldn’t care about. And so it is with me.
I am
Dust
Press
Play

She sits at her seat,

Counting the time till the bell,

Every second, every minute,

Every hour as well,

Dreading to walk out of the class,

To open her locker,

To turn around, frightened,

And see the bullies that mock her,

That stuff her head in the toilet,

That say she is a *******,

That made her life hell,

That broke her, bit by bit,

But now she will show them,

To take some revenge,

To wait till the perfect time,

To show her true intent,

To fall out a window,

To hang on a rope,

To show them that she,

Is devoid of hope,

To put the gun to her head,

To twist off the lid,

To leave them a note,

"This is what you did."