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jcl Jan 11
who is the toy in this delicate, intimate, savage game
the player or played, the dom or sub, the boy or girl
who has the power, the control, the authority when holding another’s heart
lay down, surrender, savor the sweet intense distillation of love and ****
what is the price you pay for limerence my dear
power lies with whoever cares the least

in a  landscape of open graves
every love story is a ghost story, always will be
tomorrow is never promised, not ever
you can not fight who you are
you will lose, tragically, epically

when the pain is greater than the fear
meaning, feeling of infinite hope disappears
the light fades to black, you plunge to the emotional depths
unbridled passion becomes overwhelming fear

ask lady Murasaki, “autumn is no time to lie alone”
the blossoms have fallen, the sweetest fruits picked
winter is coming , days grow colder, nights darker
the fire dies, only embers glow, in the center of the hearth
who has the power, the control, the authority when holding another’s heart
gabrielle Jan 3
loving you
wanting you
needing you
- at this hour of time
was just infatuation?
could've been more than infatuation, more than an intense desire.
Tim Mansour Jul 2015
What would happen if I reached forward  
and put my hand on your shoulder—  
Would it comfort, or cajole?  
Would you be angry? Alert?  
Because I know you're not expecting this attention.

Would you feel a shock of excitement, or fear  
brought suddenly into this moment  
by a memory  
that you never expected would meet me?  
Would confusion be a blessing in a thoughtless certain day,  
would you remember the last time this happened  
vision dusty and hairs raised  
wondering if I could like to know you, learn to know you,  
make time that's only past when we're passed in it

How can it be?  
Time, measured just in body-lengths and breathlessness—  
spaces in between growing infinite lengths of nothingness.

Will I reveal myself?  
Will I know how to, after years of longing  
Shall I lay down my mother's picnic rug—a space to hold a place for us  
Brushed against your sway,  
is it right that longing and belonging are so far apart,  
or should we capitulate, know that one is just a lesser part,  
go this separate way.

All it would take is for me to reach out in front and touch you on the shoulder  
for you to turn  
and exhale with me  
to change this day.
Subtitled: Ode to a Boy on a Bus
Bella Apr 2018
Your face is beauty
You are perfection
Yet carefree
You need no correction
Seeing you makes me crazy
To know I can never have you
Makes me feel hazy
My heart beats fast
Thinking of you
It will not pass
Why do you do this to me
Why do you do this
Wrote at 2 AM just one of those "let your emotions out" poems.
Lou Apr 2018
Simplest of names,
So plain, But how I love to say it
A promise for warmth in igloo block prison eyes
And tone of Daria,
just whelmed enough to respond
A chance of sarcasm is air
Venom in plain daylight.

Plain tone.
Plain mood.
Plain old abuse.
And most would take it from her.
As she would and certainly has taken it from us.

Petit feminine fighter with no haymakers or KO records.
****** face, that rested war and peace between chin and brow.
Baroness of motherhood or is it the queen of hearts and depression?

Stars and music always forever
Anchor tattoos with a key to a heart, now a predator.
Forever enchanted by the la-de-dah and bleeding heart affairs
A savior in no motion or fashion but I dare not call you hypothetical

But a standard broad, beauty and-
So shameless I celebrate seeing you, awkward and so ****
Cleopatra, to be a bit dramatic-
Yes Cleo-mantra, I collectively disintegrate all charm and physical form
And you,  unfazed or unimpressed with either detail of romance

My friend, compromised by style and NO amusement.
There is much more to you than ****** faces and belittling arguments.
There is more to you then practicing soapbox rants in your kitchen.
There is more to you than a shallow mothers intoxications and material.
There is more to you than the new hair dye or the wigs you collect.

The things you store in the boxes cluttering your room with everything not in those boxes
The clothes on your floor, decorations from your teenaged 3rd or 4th personality.
The smell of perfume and coffee and more perfume all over,
stuck to papers, next to wine bottles, borrowed and never returned books, unfinished snacks,
used paper towels, lipstick stained mugs and glasses, your sons toy I stepped on 4 times,
pictures of gone lovers and notes, your license; now found again after the second time ordering a new one.
And…it's expired,
Then finally under the aftermath of years, doubt, clutter, your cell phone vibrating in the fray of sheets.

"found it."

Least we forget that, as we forgot we are both in this room together.
You are so much more than this mess I picked up for you countless times
And though I complain I will pick it up for you and not ask your permission
I won't scold you, I can only exhale failure and help.

Staring blankly into your screen discussing all genres of worldly horror and ways to divert.
Such plans and opinions but no federal funding!
We would pay homage to girl power and the early 90's and call her G.I. Jayne-
(Or not cause she doesn’t have that kind of sense of humor.)
But imagine a solider, a true solider of the meek.
That is theoretically, G.I. Jayne.
Has all of our best interest at hearts, our hero.
Songs of children are said to give her strength-
(She really doesn't like this kind of humor, I must move on.)

My friend truly distressed by the world she can't control from her tiny screen.
I place all comfort I can to her and understandably rejected like a stranger making rounds.
No trust comes from her nowadays, None for me at least. I can't speak for all.
I try to climb over the steep absurdity, alluding to her self-mutilation and task this is
but not going as far as just telling her this is ******* killing me.

I have no lesser or sophisticated words.
I'm dying every time we reach these altitudes.
Fingers and my tone raising at every disagreement .
How you can break me down to my atomic core and decimate miles of friendship.
My closest star in the sky, use to bring me morning tea, flowers and maternity
We now stand in quasar as our space and stardust find mass in thousands of millions of years in development
For me to be sent to the loony bin and you to prison like our heroes from Clinton to Lazaretto.
For my friend.
myrrh Oct 2017
Which do I choose?
When given the choice of either:
A bullet to the head
Or a knife to the heart
How do I choose?
When I know the result from either:
Will be the end of me,
As well as impossible to recover from
Why do I choose?
How did I get myself into this. either:
From being in a state of limerence
Or finally finding someone who appreciates me
What do I choose?
I need to make the choose and either:
Use my brain, take the knife and perish
Or follow my heart, take the bullet and be in forever pain
I don't know what to do
Gabriella Jul 2017
Was I blinded by happiness that I couldn't see?
The fear, the doubt that was bubbling inside of you.
Perhaps, my mind blocked my sight, wanting to make me happy.

Oh, foolish mind.
How I wish you could have let me see.
The pain now left flowing through my body isn' worth the two seconds of bliss.
Valentia Jan 2017
serendipitous memories
and wistful sighs
cherry blossom petals
twirling amidst the skies
efflorescent flowers
ephemeral hours
ethereal sunsets
and starry constellations

anguished thoughts
and secret frustrations
incandescent candles burn
as if awaiting your return
anguish and lingering despair
heartbreak and hollow emptiness
caused by unforsaken pettiness

merely the potential difference
between requited love
and bittersweet limerence
why is limerence so painful?
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