Someone called me fickle once
In high school
I had to look the word up
In the dictionary
And I didn’t agree
With their assessment
Unsure, yes
Unconfident, always
But fickle? No.
I just wanted
To be liked
You were the fickle one

what a
fickle thing
feelings
i wish i
could turn them
all off

Oh slower!!
Slower!!!
My dear blood
Dont rush i dont wanna do this fast.
I wanna feel it,
Every ounce,
Every droplet of red rushing out of my body screaming her name,

Within a closed Casket lies my head weary and dread where i rest all my thoughts and finally free myself from the torments of my haunted long lost love,
For i know my love wasnt fickle,
But for her It was just my love not hers.

Stop feeding the fickle ones and they will go away.

Keep feeding the loyal ones and they will stay.

The fickle won’t starve for you.

But the loyal know they need you to survive.

Writing has always been a fickle friend to me;
Sometimes the only thing standing between me and a masterpiece
Is the mood to write.

There were warning signs to beware,
great walls you had to climb,
more parcels inside,
sealed with labeled reminders
to handle with care.
That a wrong cut of a wire
could trigger explosives,
that the place wasn't just fragile,
it was also volatile.

There's a reason why
from miles away you'd been told
to keep your own distance.
Why this wasn't just something
you could happen to stumble upon,
but a shipwreck, a paper town,
a lost city you needed to find.

When it dawned upon you
that this was not paradise,
but a haunted cemetery of some kind,
you snuck your way back
to the hole you fell into;
burning the place to the ground,
like the ones who came before you.