I’ve manifested
an after midnight symphony,
looping mp3’s of my own eulogies
and consecutively callousing
and shaking hands with death,
the feeling brings a paradox of
finding warmth in cold palms
and it cuts between relation and
addiction to a palpable misery,
shot glasses of blood trying to make
home in my throat
drawing *****
and neglecting to force
warmth back inside,
left cold
and red hands ramble
abstract frigidness
on a livid mess mimicking
a sorry excuse for a heartbeat,
and all i’ve been doing is
touching myself
and each fingertip friction
formalizes an addiction to
a wintry contagious

feeling so so
is sometimes
as good as
it gets.

When I'm near you, my skin heats and sweats for you.

My heart flutters full of passion, and my thoughts are only for you and l.

My eyes crave yours, and outlines your shoulders, your neck, your every shadow, your art.

My art...

Your my art.

I can trace you with my lingering fingers, leading to places only for me.

Kissing your lips, licking them with my careful aggressive lust.

My lips are sweet, but my tongue will be in your every *******.

As our tongues dance I know this was my very dream last night.

You and I, like heat and delicious liquid memories.

It's physical passion and chemical romance.

You and I made to please only eachother.

To gently tease and vigorously please eachother.

This is what the best dreams are made of...

You and I dancing our sacred dance.

The dance that only great lovers can dance.

Till every ****** has stolen our very last movement.

Drained our liquid lust.

Till we lay in each others arms or spread out on the bed...

While our bodies scream pleasure and only our deep breaths remain among blended sweat and wet...

I think of this.

Of you.

Of us.

And my mind plays this distant song to my body and it radiates through me till only consuming you will heal me...

Fill me...

Feel me...

And I miss you now though in moments I'll upon you.

My self control does not exist.

Just you and l alone with our sounds and bodies bound and bent, layed out and sometimes whipped.

Passion.

All of our needs will be met...

It kicks in late at night
Bothers me
Plays tricks on me
I may seem happy but deep inside I am going through it
Depression isnt always something you notice
But these symptoms will haunt you

Solitary, lie-back moments; of being in the coziest of places surrounded by the most mundane yet magical. Melancholy has a way of tinging itself with those little nuances of memory, and those little nuances of memory tinge themselves with shades of bittersweet and sad recollection over time. Silent reckonings, simplistically suppressing thoughts - all huge contradictions to the slow, natural motion of letting the waves wash over you.

Is this emotional maturity? Is this a step forward? Life is always full of too many intricacies to tell for sure.

The familiar scents of tearstains and revulsion being punctuated by the occasional flicker of light ahead; pain and perseverance, hope and the promise of heaven.

We are so full of contradictions - concrete, grounded beings yet with so many abstractions and complexities in our heads. A constant grapple, a relentless cycle. Coming back to places of washed up memories has this effect on you; but you pull through, you plough through quicksands, you pick up the small rationalities that have gone astray, and you move forward like you’ve always been doing before. It’s the only thing we know how to do.

Walk on our own, on our own two feet.

And pray that whatever knocks us down, will never be enough to sink us.

No battle is won by merely one man
It is won in the blood stained garments of many
It is not dictated by the resolve in his final stand
But the impact of the burden carried by all, on every step of the journey

“Battles”-JP