I enjoy the thrill of the unknown
The uncertainty is killing me
But I'm living for it
What can I say?
I'm a thrill seeker
What's yet to come?
Will we ever know or just let it all go?
Drowning in lust,
For it I must,
Orchestrate a heist,
For every bit of dust.
We are souls covered in dust. It’s very dusty that others can’t see.
Maybe it helps not at all
Or maybe it helps much
But I’ll say it like this
I have it in my head
I heard or saw or read
Somewhere that dolphins blind
In dark or bound briefly
But kindly with blindfold
Can find a moving thing
Long beyond when it moved
Through water and tests show
It not to be scent trail
Nor do they the experts
But say instead the roll
And fold of turbulence
Signs a way back to fish
Or fleeing lure and sings
Betrayal though all else
Is still as night and death
I walked into life's library to seek perhaps adventures there.
Not really knowing what I sought my expectations unaware.
I looked first at the non-fiction upon shelves marked clearly with tape.
The more I looked yet did I realize it was from that I sought escape.
I chanced upon a section where great imagined dramas did abound.
Where mystic stories and strange creatures on the pages could be found.
Caught briefly by the imagined on the pages with heroes deeds upon.
I realized all was fantasy so through the pathway of books I ventured on.
Time passed as it tends by some scale that seemed so erratic in its flow.
As shelves and stories passed me by along the route I chose to go.
I came then to a section with a long queue of people standing there.
Patiently in their place and each with determined and focused stare.
What was it that drew them and caused this lengthened line?
Their looks suggested that the need, was very much like mine.
I had passed so many shelves with random people here and there.
But no other shelf or section for which this queue I could compare.
Through strong and strange compulsion I resolved to take my chance.
To join the much sought after line toward the shelf of "Love and Romance".
If only it were a book on a shelf....
So many books.... but each only works if there is both writer and reader.
We all seek to write and be read and so be a story shared.
"If through me you’ll seek and try,"
Says the Spirit,
"I’ll raise you high."
He sees me.
The stranger looks deep,
deeper Into me
than I see myself and analyse and care to critique the way
that I'm conducting myself.
He's harsh with his eyes
He doesn't know me.
scrutinizing every pore
every hair that stands in place,
every conscious thought and un-thought.
He thinks he doesn't
But he does.
Like a whirlpool of judgement that swirls in a silver reflection, I stare at the man that stares at me.
he seems familiar and now I judge him.
the table turns to see myself
staring at this silvery
Sneaking out seeking souls to sleep with, holding hands with helpless hollow horror, waiting for wholeness and *****-ness to wisp wetness, vulnerable and vindictive vicious boys prey, and eat away at me and my "magnificent" attention seeking adored abdomen, ******* that broke boyfriends from girlfriends just to fill the fluctuating depression fracturing my frail heart.
Falling deeper into a whole of emptiness
Why is that we seek for attention and affection a love so pure and expecting
Yet we don’t give not even half of what we are expecting we look for pointless lovers useless partners and expect them to stay to love to care and be the perfect lover it’s a cat and mouse game my lover wants another while the love they want is with another and you also dream of having your ex lover and other so why is it that we seek the touch of others
don't fall in love with the first person that gives you a little bit of attention.