He's the one
That kisses my fingers
From base to tip
As if nothing so fine has ever met his lips
He's the one
That holds me at night
While he snores in my ear
And it's the sweetest thing I'll ever hear
He's the one
That stays up late
Talking about his dreams
And it's enough to make me burst at the seams
He's the one
I'll spend every day with
And still find myself missing
All his loving and his kissing
He's the one
I'm going to marry
And we'll spend the rest of our lives
Giggling
Laughing
Loving
Holding
Dreaming
Sighing
Crying
And falling in love all over
He's the One

Last time I was hung over,
     I was wearing
               the wrong face.

Having a headache,
                  blurs perception,
     I picked the wrong me
                                 to display.

the girl had Emotion in her fingers
her head was too empty with thoughts
and her heart too drained of recognition
that she stored her feelings in her fingertips

the scariest thing is
looking into your heart
instead of your head

Your brown eyes
fill my gut with butterflies
fluttering their wings violently,
they render me silent-ly
I would gaze at you from afar,
but now we've progressed
we're getting drinks at the bar.
This pitter-patter in my chest
keeps increasing it's pace,
especially when your face
is so close to my own.
Perspiration builds on my skin,
yet I'm calmed by the scent of your cologne.
I just want my heart to win
this round of heart versus head
because the beginnings are so sweet,
yet it's the end that I dread.

Do you not understand that no means no?
That stop means stop?
That all of this could be over and done,
if you would just listen to what I have to say?

You call me names because I tell you to leave,
and you talk down to me when I don't want to hear your apology.

You say you want to make peace,
but you only want to hear your side of the story.

You say that I'm wrong.
That this is my fault.

But oh, my friend, you are the one at fault.
None of this can fall back on me.

So please, just leave me alone.
That is all that I ask.
I need to clear my head,
because all you're doing is clouding it up.

Please listen to me now when I say no,
since the first time wasn't enough.

By Arcassin Burnham

I know just what I got here and I'm not
Complaining.

Our past does not define us , but there's
Nothing wrong with screaming.

As much as I hate some of this that I
Got,  I'm aiming to get so much more.

I know what my role is , I know I ain't
Basic, as the time change a little bit
more.

Cause we claw our ways out and end up
on different sides.
You could gladly find your way, or you'd
Just end up and die.

I don't want to knock you , but what is
You faith?

Speaking with my mouth and not words
ona screen that can't be erased.

Caught myself at one cross road at a
Time.

But I filled with so much ******* that
I can't hide, so I ask God why in life cause
Cause we claw our ways out and end up
on different sides.
You could gladly find your way, or you'd
Just end up and die.

There's a cat living in my head
and he's redecorating.
Clawing at the sides of my skull,
tearing down the wall paper that was there.
But he doesn't seem fond of putting up something new,
just wants to leave the gouges so the pain can seep through.

He doesn't travel far.
To the back and then the front again,
but he never strays to the left.
He hugs the right wall of my head
like he'll die if he tries to leave
Just digging new trenches as he goes

When he feels really inspired
he gets a hammer and
BANG
BANG
BANG
new places that throb and throb for hours
never leaving me at peace
but he's happy with what he's created

I've been told there's a piece of metal I can get
to lock him out, keep him out, and throw away the key
some people say it worked for them and I'm just hoping
that it also works for me

It starts out as a premonition, a looming and ominous hint.

The base of the neck feels stiff and foreign. You tilt your head, stretching as if trying to listen in to a far away noise that soon reveals itself as an oncoming train, strain. Eyes stare outward, grow a bit wider, you hate being right. It is coming.

The first strike is as sharp as you remember, hits you from the side, like a bitter wind, penetrates, resonates. The pain spreads. You're now certain something's spilled inside you. Your stomach agrees and ties a knot.

Time to hide from the light, eyelids heavy, eyes beneath tender. Deep breaths only enforce this reunion, minutes stretch. Knuckles outline the brows, hard, a placebo you tell yourself helps somehow. Hours grow.

Fractured messages now slam around inside this silent chamber where only you can hear yourself break. It's going to be a long night.