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

Painfully beautiful
Enchantress unreal.
Flaunts her darkness, dutiful
All her frills of sin
All her laces of evil.

Mystifying, electrifying
Seethes like lightning
Lethal to touch
She’s scorching, Excruciating, blinding.

Red dresses with hems alight
Fire-laden wings aflight
Collect, sinners unite
Bow to her to live
Endure her to survive.

Addicted,
I burn from within.

There is a ferocious need to be
touched and loved.
It is as if nails have been raked across my soul
making it sing and scream
in words only you can hear.
Yet there is no salvation to be seen.

You only hear me when it is convenient for you
and the heaviness of being a burden is becoming too much for me to carry

That I saw the end coming
Was nothing more than a curse
I was helpless to to fix it all
Unable to make meaningful change
You opened dark, wanton doors
You knew you couldn't close
Picking instruments of torture
From the bodies you didn't resist

My objections were met with cruelty
You brought forth sick resolution
Consequences that needed no bearing
The only choice given to me to make
Was which poison I would swallow
With but a smile and tranquil eyes
It's true, I am the one who left you
But you are the one who left scars

Forged in fire
his tainted smile
carved by deft hands of deceit.
Along this narrow passage
the walls fold in.
He lurks at the end
But a blank face
But a pair of hunched shoulders.
We know of his
cold,
dead,
eyes.
We feel his pull
like burning chains
lodged under our ribs,
reminding us of our fragility
as we break
like a dying tree.
Flaked away has our innocence
for right before our bloodshot irises
are the twisted, tarnished roots of the thorns
that seek to uproot us,
snake around our ankles,
and rub our flesh to raw crimson
as they drag us into their jaws of crushing teeth.
A flood of acid,
eating at our spines,
warping our faces
beyond the point of recognition.
And then they break us.

Cupid seems to like me,
to like making fun of me.
He enjoys to throw around his arrows
with not much careful thought or good judgement
but simply for his own amusement.

Cupid seems to like me,
to like playing with me.
He enjoys to chase me around in time and space
with his arrows always carved too deep in my heart
most of times.

Cupid seems to like me,
to like torturing me.
Since his arrows always seem to miss the other living soul
while if i dare to pull out mine
it will make me bleed to death
from loving
too much.