I don't think I should dream anymore;
it hurts me,
more and more.
My dreams bring me up so high,
and then something goes wrong
and my dreams die.
Dreaming is deadly;
it could **** you.
But you shouldn't give up on your dreams,
because each one has its own value.

They say lust is one of the deadly sins
but when his lips travel from my own,
down my neck,
exploring uncharted territory
it feels more heavenly than anything offered in the pages of the bible.

I don’t necessarily believe in god,
but I do believe that his hands are my welcome to the golden gates.
And if god is real,
She would want me drown in his embrace.

She would tell us that this,
this thirst that we have for one another,
is natural and as close to divine as we can get.

The frantic desire to be closer,
despite being on top of him already,
is a testament to the power She gives us.

A verse hidden between the lines,
She whispers about the apple,
and how the hidden knowledge Eve was granted
was never really a secret in the first place.
but instead,
a test of curiosity,
She dares us to explore.

To take a bite,
and savor the sweetness that we sink our teeth into.
never more alive than in the moments we are gasping for air,
trying so hard to breathe one another in.
Unsure of how long this night will last,
or if we will get another chance at being this bold.

Holding hands,
and throats,
exchanging smiles
and grasping on to anything we can wrap our fingers around.

Shirts,
hair,
sheets.

This is what She meant when She told us we would
long for the lewdness of our youth.

If god is real,
She would want nothing more than
our laughs and jokes to break up the intense reality that we are in.
She would send music down whenever he asks if I am still okay.
She would brighten the moon in glee,
because what could be more angelic than the halo
of hair spread out behind me.

What could be more holy than owning your body
shamelessly.
unbothered by the wind whistling,
cheering us on in this moment.

They say that lust requires a penance,
but if god is real,
She is proud in this moment.

She has granted us the tools and the instinct,
lust was never really a sin.
We don’t need to ask for an absolution,
She grants us pleasure,
whispers that we don’t need to be forgiven.

There is something so humane about
the animalistic sounds clawing their way from his throat.
At the end of the night,
I find myself praying,
thanking Her for each mark on my skin.
Never asking for Her mercy,
this is heaven on earth
and it was She who created it.

oh how easy it is
to succumb
to the mercy of my own greed.
instantaneous;
like fingers flicking through
burning candle flames.
danger is right around the corner
if i turn in that direction,
leaving the car idling
while dashing on cracked pavement
making my mothers back break
a thousand times over
for a moment's taste
of chaos.

After all this time I can now sit an write
Forgetting my pass years of endless flights.
Desintations among the shadows,
Where images cannot Appear.
For some reason
I closed my self to this lonesome fog.
Making my ink
to stop.
My Agony becomes extensions of deadly Airs,
For dying leaves to settle in my grave.
My lonely nights
Are poems in a difficult times
Turning beautiful flowers to gloom
In cemeteries.
It appears me that I have open my self to a word of emptiness,
An rumours to me became a curtain for eyes to never see happiness.
As I say in between my words
An call out
"I feel Alone among millions"…..



                                                 ­          By  
                                                            ­    E.R.S

Her most deadliest weapon,
Is carried in her silence.