Falling in love will always hurt. Even if you get to marry them & have the happiest moment of your life, walking down the aisle or waiting at the altar for your lover. One of you will have to leave sooner or later.

Scenario #1, they die first. That **** will hurt. You will no longer feel their arms around you. The softness of their hair will be missed by your hand. Those late night movie marathons and fort-buildings will all become memories. Because they're gone. And as they leave, they took every single particle of you with them. And it's going to hurt for the rest of your life.

Scenario #2, you die first. You will spend seven years in whatever place you may go after you die, waiting for them. And sometimes, you will inevitably watch them move on and worse, fall in love with someone new. When it's time for them to die, there's a possibility that they might not even look for you in heaven or hell. For they're going to be busy waiting for their new lover to follow them into the light.

And you will become a distant memory.

Love will always hurt.

There is little success in writing, none of any wealth, not without selling
your soul.
It seems that these days our book store shelves are slaves to **** literature,
and our computers are ruled by the pop-up one time self help blog Kings & Queens.
They all seemed to believe that their writing is filled from the truth buried within the heart and soul, and tireless nights slaving over the blank page, but few really torture their souls to bleed onto the page. Few watch as the bottles empty beside the array of snubbed out cigarette ends, all for the perfect tale, all for the best story. But it is never good enough, because to be tortured, you are never to be satisfied. There is no fame with writing, there is no success,
that only comes in death.

I took your hand in mine
and walked down the streets
of tiled memories
yet to be carved

I stole your cigarette
from between your fingers
just like you stole my feelings
without noticing

I lit it in the passenger seat
next to you, just like the way
your eyes light up when they fall
upon my sight

I looked at you, next to me
and mentally snapped moments
without you noticing

I took a drag from your cigarette
the same way I take your breath away
when you kiss me

I filled my lungs with sinful smoke
the same way I fill your mind with wicked
thoughts of me

I exhaled fumes of sighs
the same way you do when I embrace
you for a while

I rolled down my window
and felt liberated, like you do
when you lie there on my bed
with a smile on  your face

I put my hand out
to dance with speed, feeling the wind
caress my hand like you do
when you want to comfort me

I took a sip from that cheap can of alcohol
and smiled, it was cold and sweet
just like your skin, when you sleep next to me
in winter

I felt sedated, borderline drunk
just like you when I lay my skin
on  yours overdosing you with heaven on earth

I rested my head on the seat
and marveled at the night sky
wondering how such simple beauty
can be so mesmerizing
the same way you marvel
at my eyes,
when they wake up
and
light your
dawn

Come hither writer,
Set the stage.
The voice of choice and reason,
Have not aged.
Paint the world in your words of all,
This the place belly up is so small.
Have you no reason or rhyme?
To take in those breaths,
Time after time.
Fiercely show the power you hold,
Frightening words of bold.
No creased pages beseech you,
Every word you wrote.
Only to feature you,
Tiny drawings to entertain your mood.
When the days of the dry well,
Bequeath you.
So writer,
Set the stage.
And with your words,
Amaze.

I heard this song once
trumpets of adrenaline
and beats of joy
combined to shoot my heart
with the best drug
my body has ever tasted

I heard this song once
it was 1 am, with drums
of elation mixed with decadent vibrations
my eyes couldn't handle it
they cried with joy

I heard this song once
in the back seat of a car
my limbs awakened
with movements reaching
higher for something better

I heard this song once
with drops of emotions
repeating, beating, dropping
with ineffable beauty
that words went silent

I heard this song once
my whole being shook
to the sound
that music can gift
and
my soul
moaned
with
pleasure

I may not know what words to speak
When meeting new people, I'm a little weak
But I'll still watch closely and listen well
To capture the story they're all dying to tell

To the green eyed goddess
I must admit that I have never written
about my muse before, so this may sound strange.
You see she is a green eyed goddess.
Her hair is spun heaven’s gold
and she moves with the grace of falling leaves.
When she dances the stars shine brighter
and my world becomes peaceful.

But what makes her a goddess is internal.
The fire inside is a warm light that says all are welcome.
Even when she is fighting the demons inside;
she always has a smile for me.

Words are under her spell.
She takes those twenty six and creates like paint on a canvas.
A master chef who makes a feast for all to enjoy.
A pure soul who takes everything life gives her and makes it beautiful.

That is why I write to the green eyed goddess.
Praying that for a moment, I can use words to summon the sun
into her darkness. That I can make her smile one more time,
and know that the world is still at peace.
Her hands were made to create,
so I will use mine to protect.
So know you know about my muse.

Once again it's a new year where we become the writer of the book of our lives,
and this time there are 366 blank pages to write in when each and every day arrives.

This is the year that you finally focus on just you -
and concentrate on things that make you euphoric too.
Make your dreams and chase them with passion;
realise you have the power to make them happen.

The stars will align in the sky for you my dear,
and your courage will see you through any fear,
you will be stronger and more carefree,
and be the you that you deserve to be.

the way you shined light into my life made me believe in greater things. I felt you over power any depth the sun could possibly hold. strong enough to clear the rain clouds forming behind my eyelids and bright enough to scare my shadow away.

When your thoughts are too vague and you can't fathom where would your ideas go,
When all you need is to scribble down all those but you're too lazy to do,
When you can't help but deny that your childhood dream is now turning blue,
And when all you've written for almost your lifetime were just mediocre and nonsense clue.

Then stop! Take a break and let your hand wander,
Let it feel a different job aside from painting ink in your paper,
Maybe it needs a little time for itself to discover,
And talk to the Almighty God through prayer.