#psychoanalyst
My Beloved Fire:
Head full of kindling,
heart's holding the light
Ready to burn through the darkness of night.
The furnace you fuel
with passion and life,
can spend awfully fast
and quickly ignite
the gasoline
in your viens;
charring bones,
scalding flesh
and Lord, that wax skin's already
starting to drip.
Oxygen properly feeds a flame.
Don't forget
to breathe.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
My Beloved Air:
Lovely,
delicate,
fingertips
saturated with ink.
It seeps from your lips
from your pores,
painting stories
on your paper thin skin.
Such beautiful ideas in your head but,
you hold your words
in the hands of a child;
benevolent, yet careless.
Remember that
a strangers heart
is their book, not yours.
Ink stains rarely
wash out.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
My beloved Water:
Teardrops ripple in the oceans
of your collar bones.
Can you breathe underwater?
A driftwood cage may
keep sorrow at bay
but love,
it cannot contain
the sea.
It's time to break your own bones,
rip open your ribs.
That heart has been drowning
for far too long.
Let it be light;
The sky still needs
the moon..
To survive.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
My beloved earth:
You built up walls
to keep others out,
or yourself in?
This garden has gone unseen
for long enough.
Lungs rich with soil,
riddled with roots,
They creep up your throat
and spill from your lips,
so every exhale is reminiscent
of sweet spring.
Just be mindful of each
breath and your speech,
There is beauty
in a mouth
full of roses,
but danger
in a tongue
made of thorns.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:39 PM UTC