Suitcases aren't made for dresses and skirts or any such thing,
They are another type of box they try to trap you within.

Somedays I can go hours without thinking about you
And other days I am drowning in you
Today the sky reminds me of you
How blue
I never understood how your eyes could hypnotize me
But tonight I hate you
Why did you make me fall for you
I had everything
Yet all I wanted was a taste
I gave up everything for just a taste
Do you even know what that means
That I ******* loved you
And I still do and I cant let go
So tonight the waves are a hurricane

It was as though her touch set my body ablaze
Forest fires spreading through my veins
Dragon flies alight
Dancing in the remains.

12-17-2-13

Her face flooded with scarlet
her nose flushing out bright red
Did I do it?
Did I do that?
How could I just do that;
was it someone else instead?
She says three separate people
control the thoughts inside my head.
"which one is the realest"  she asks.
I'm not pretending when I ask for amending.

And if love could talk,
express its thoughts,
it would tell you
it doesn't care about gender,
it would advise you to remember,
that it cannot be planned,
despite your demands,
and that the holding of hands
between two women from Venus
or two men with a *****,
is exactly the same,
as that shared between
a girl and boys frame.

For as sure as the moon will rise,
Will i look into those eyes of yours every single day, and tell you i love you.

and while your presence may be enchanting, I find that it hinders my breathing.

but the way that you know exactly what to say to make the pain go away and the serotonin want to come out to play

well I'd be a liar if I told you that it wasn't my favorite part of every single day

and when it hits you

it'll feel like waves of anxiety

dragging you into a sea of euphoria

and drowning you in peace

But what I’ve learned now is that our bastardized love cannot be written in a silly journal

nor can it be sliced into my flesh as my previous loves could have been.

What I have learned is that our love is old and, though previously unspoken

it often leaves us both dumb and craving more.

Before I loved you, I wrote disorganized thoughts on my skin with blades and needles.
Before I loved you, every inch of my body was sore from the nightmare induced thrashing

Now, because I love you, I write disorganized thoughts on a piece of paper with a red pen
and now, because I love you, every inch of my body is sore from the pleasure induced thrashing.