It's a strange thing to feel something
After being dormant for so many years.
At this point, I thought my only emotion was stress.
I guess I was wrong after all.

I haven't gotten used to feeling things.
It's uncomfortable
To admit to having emotions.
I clam up when I want to say "I love you,"
And my hands get clammy when I want to hold your own.
I have so many feelings pressing against my insides,
Trying to break out and get free.
For some reason, it feels like pushing through a brick wall
Just to tell you how I feel.

I don't know why I'm this way with my feelings.
Is it because of past betrayals?
Or maybe anxiety,
Stapling my tongue to the roof of my mouth?
I can't really say,
But whatever it is, I want it to be gone.
I want to stop holding back my love for you,
And let it flourish - unbridled and free.
If anyone deserves to have my love,
It's you.

You, who refuses to leave,
Even when I'm breaking.
You, who holds me in your arms
Even when I've set myself on fire.
You, who has a smile
That brings me back to life.
You,
Whom I cherish with all my heart.

I'm aware
That because of you, I'll get better over time.
You keep finding cracks in my brick wall,
And bodyslam into them enough to create holes.
One day, thankfully, it's going to fall,
But I don't want you to do it all on your own.
I'll take a hammer to it from the other side,
And beat the **** out of my emotional barrier.

My emotions...
I never thought I'd be able
To set the ghastly things free.

Its weird how small things in life,
Will give you so much pleasure.
The fact that another person remembers you,
When you have been trying to forget that world.

That she took out time,
Lowered her ego and called you asked you if you were fine.
With mischeif or malice or sinister intend.

Thats flattering. Thats so ghastly over whelming
For all she wanted to know about were how badly my boats were burning down.

I ride a ghastly, palish horse,
his hair is ghoulish, sharp and coarse;

We ride upon the night: a rave -
no sound about us beyond the brave,
and the sighing dying no god could save,
but reaped and stolen by the glaive.

And fear in hearts of men we stir,
when I give my palish horse the spur,
and soundless shrieks of still and void
greet the darkness, overjoyed.