Darling,
you’re not falling apart,
you’re getting rid of the pieces
that no longer serve your purpose.
This is surgery of the spirit,
and it can be painful as hell.

Another facing the screen
writing profanities
thinking insanity
stitching verses acrimonious
or playing pungent words-harmonious
fabricating delusive fantasies
in feelings of pure ecstasy
melancholy or malignity
forged in the bliss of minimalism
or the complex art of maximalism
inspiring poetic athleticism
pressing keys with blazing passion
in an 1880's typists fashion
or pondering by the window
creating a marvelous crescendo
evoking curiosity,
a poetic monstrosity
of thought provoking quality
for questioning our entity
or embracing the obvious,
in whimsical simplicity.
A poetical society
behind my pixelated screen
indulge in poetic impropriety
in Hellopoetry!

is it the way you smile,
the way your booming laugh
infects me and encapsules me

is it the smile, the corners of your lips
taking the shape of a heart,
washing me over with inexplicable endearment

or maybe it's the way your voice
controls me like the tides,
making my body tingle as you wish,
silvercapped tongue that toys with my mind

perhaps it's your body,
the way your silhuette was designed to
make me feverish and aching for it
to endlessly yearn for your touch,
or yearn to touch

i ponder and try to outline which of these things it is that has me captivated

intoxicated by your whole being,
i'm left wondering

high octane whippets
bring me closer to sin
lied about remorse
it’s hard to break
to cement my place in hell
thrones made within myself
mindful thoughts of decadence
barren lies the boy
filled with tar and hate
selfish ingrate
no longer a problem
his death left no mark
condescending little ****
stands here his grave

once you’re by my side
high off of it
nothing can deny me of your heart
no more time to live in yesterday