Peace,
Solace is my addiction.

My continuous affliction with change foreshortens my perception of peace.

Give me a taste and I shall not waste a drop,
Send it through my veins to take hold,
And seethe.

Peace,
Solace is my addiction,

How I've turned such a beautiful word,
To poison,
And torture...

My beautiful affection to the untouchable, unreachable,
The next best thing?

I like to think,
To be loved,
To love,
To hold,
To shoulder your burdens and see a smile that just so happens to be my fault.

A ruthless addiction,
Such is Love.

~Robert van Lingen

Oh come fallen angel
Cure my heart of it's regret
Kiss my neck tenderly
Whisper your story so bittersweet

In lunacy, my mind dares dabble
Asleep at last, I face your gaze
The sorrowful eyes of my forsaken flower
Your wings once golden, now rest black
Envelop me within their grasp

Too much pain, my name forgotten
A relic of time fit for a coffin
Boldly did you take my hand
My rescue was your master plan

Dreams still withered
Scars last forever
Solace is your hand in mine
From now until the end of time

the story goes
that van gogh would eat yellow paint
in hopes that it would
put happiness inside of him –
probably the same reason
he drank absinthe.

i never understood that level of desperation –
except i painted my fingernails yellow today
in hopes that sunshine
would flow from my fingertips
instead of the torrential downpour
that i’ve made a home out of.

but it only reminds me of van gogh
and new york city
and you –
lots of starry nights

who knew you had the power
to make everything feel so grey in your wake?

if you think about it,
all of us have our own yellow paint –
something we cling to for refuge
even though we know it’s killing us, slowly,
the temporary solace feels worth it
if only for a moment

and you were mine.

- courtney l. p.