Love explodes like little paint tubes
pressurized inside my heart
color shoots
and streaks
across all these walls and chambers
dripping down through all my veins
a rainbow stretched from chest to feet

Millions of stars.
Shooting,
Falling,
Granting wishes
All around me,
But only one
Lit up
My sky.

I chased it
Blindly,
Dancing on
The moon,
Swinging on
Saturn's rings,
And searching
Through endless
Galaxies,
But I never
Could quite
Hold it
In my palm
To glow
Brightly in
My hand.

I think now
That maybe
Perhaps
You were
That one star
That my arms just
Weren't meant
To reach.

Close.
Close enough
To be warmed
By your light,
To be changed
By your beauty,
But only to admire
From a distance,
Millions of
Light years away.

Here I stand,
looking at nothing,
feeling empty.

You look at me
and ask me why.

I turn to you
and see you glowing.
You took every part of me.

You're full, I'm empty.
Mission accomplished.

Bewildered and haunted,
This one night,
Feelings of disarray,
Taunting from the full moon
Haunting through the blue room
A fearful haunting sound
In the midst
Of the town
Owls crying as they flee
Evil prying as we see
The night has come
To lock us in exile,
Beneath its red eyes

Embers of darkness
Glowing afar
Chains of attacks
Calling from the witching hour
As men sleep without   power
Let us watch the night tears
As it conquers all its fears
Which it kept for a million years
But when morning comes
And the rising sun ploughs
I will
Leave
The night
Into a dazzling
light

in the darkest sky a silver glow
thoughts of time in memories to flow
day after day I watch it grow
till he fades in the times flow
yet in momentary darkness i await his glow
never to fail the silver light in times flow

The body rarely appreciates,
So however we treat it,
Eventually it depreciates.
The soul,
If we give to it,
Will grow,
Its glow is eternal.
Beautify the soul,
They way you would the body and even more,
Afterall its the inside that reflects on the outside.

How strange, a man who could choose to love, but hated instead. Himself most of all. What a pity it was, but that's not what he wanted, right?
He wanted their forgiveness, not their pity. Forgiveness for not being enough. But they thought they saw right through him, they know his ways. And he would agree.
   He's a writer after all, he would say. It's in his nature to dislike himself to the point of ignorance. But when does an act become nature? When does this character he has created become apart of who he is? Or was it that way all along?