This is but an ode in love's wake,
I write in sorrow as my hands shake,
My lament stays strong for this heart's sake,
As this agony I face, I can no more take.

The flames of love have burnt my wandering soul,
The drift of the sands of time have taken their toll,
Love has cracked my spirit as it plays its role,
In my despairing heart that is now a grand hall.

I watch silently as my miserable heart turns black,
As this hall that falls apart with each crack,
I turn numb as I am deprived of the sense I lack,
And falter as I suffocate in this morose love plaque.

Looking at the world
through acidic eyes.
Thunderstorm kisses,
pouring through dark skies.

Bands of rage and temper,
feelings all caged in.
Powder keg explosives,
blowing up again.

Black and blue circles,
hid under the cloth.
Red drips from my nose,
broken at all cost

Ripped down at the seams,
by every human thread.
Abandoned and afraid,
wishing I was dead.

Fill my morose heart with sorrow,
So I can wake up in grief tomorrow,
To be chased by agony's harrow,
And in screech in pain of love's arrow.

Fill my cup with bitter wine,
Drink until I am numb or fine,
The grief has my heart to dine,
When my sun sets, does it shine?

Fill my ears with somber criers,
And surround my body in hellfires,
To forget what this heart inspires,
And to banish love's wretched desires.

The clouds welcomed the morning
With a heavy heart they float around
Gloom smeared across the canopy
Carrying the tales of sorrows from afar
Written all over the annals of the sky
A heavy heart, it can longer carry
Waiting for an audience to share their story
Every word raining across the valley
A lone audience drenched in somber moments

Almost seeming inside out she ponders

for her lips against his makes her mind wonder

for the longing of the touch makes things fonder but

she wonders for things make her somber.

“What do you want people to remember you for?”
That question has been haunting me for a while now.
What *do I want to be remembered for?
I've never really been outgoing,
Or funny,
Or confident.
I've always stayed by myself,
Alone with my thoughts.
I don’t go to parties, or do wild things.
I don’t have a lot of friends,
And it’s hard for me to get close to someone.
I’m not popular.
Not known.
You ask someone in the hall if they’re seen me
And they don’t know who you’re talking about,
Because there’s nothing noticeable about me,
Nothing I’m really good at,
I’m easily forgettable.
Just another face in the crowd.
I guess part of me doesn't care,
Because that part of me knows that
No one else does.
But the other part
Wants to know,
What will I be remembered for?
And will I even be remembered at all?

Cascades of hearts
Entangle these walls
In the early mourning
Their glory calls.

Scarlet red trumpets
That play to the sun.
Singing somber music
Till the mourning is done

They've over grown
My bleeding heart
Destined to die
From the very start

Once surrounded
By forget me knots
But the glory overgrew
And I guess I forgot.

Laid to rest
In a desolate hole
Bleeding heart roots,
My lonely soul

Cascades of hearts
Entangle these walls
In the early mournings
I sing with their calls

Exposure,
plenty of light,
nothing uncovered,
or too much left unknown.
Through the lens, which he can't see but only thoughts and ideas he scatters through his shutter.
The rain can be captured quickly and in large amounts.
The press of a button and the stress is released, a flash of light and lightening coincide
crash
electrify.
Fighting the storm, protecting his truths and love.
He still trudges ahead; heart in hand.
Recording his sight, capturing the beauty.

Making it home, he doesn't think twice, he places his heart back in its chest and moves on downstairs.
Walking tall and soaking wet,
avoids looks or stares that come his way.
Piecing his mind back together, missing pieces lost outside in the horrible weather.
He'll keep on aching and asking himself questions, as slowly as the night air dries his split hairs, he can slowly rethink the choices he's made.