Perfection.
I miss.
Whose name I trace on my lips with my finger tips.
Such sweet bliss.
Thats you.
My morning and my lovely moon.
But your absence is agony
And I fight to breathe,
But air that lacks your scent is not fresh.
Nights without your voice are just as good as deaf.
Wake me from this coma.
Save me from your silence.
Forgive what it seems like and see whats hidden in plain sight.
My love.
For you.
Is more infinite than the universe.
Hold my hand until we find its end.
Together.

Last night I dreamed of you.
For a moment I could have called you mine.
For an instant you truly were.
Its because of this that waking up was one of the hardest things I've had to do.
Leaving the desperation to kiss you rekindled and unsatisfied.

Make me forget the existence of time
so that I can lay with you forever.

I hope to one day recognize your scent
only to crave knowing more of you.
I want to know all of you,
your mind is fascinating,
your opinions are flooring,
your voice makes sense,

your soft hands are tempting and
your body is that of a God.
I can only hope to explore you further.

To enjoy watching the shift in your eyes
when I take you in.
All I ask is that you grip my hips while I do so.
I promise to kiss you greedily.

You will be my ultimate destruction.

Nothing can dismantle me more than
the wicked bitter sentiment of longing,
the decomposition of my being that counts
the second for the day you fix me,

the sweat on my brow in the morning from
dreams of you,
the smokey echoing memories of the past,

the loud promises we made that are still ringing,
the sweet vowels that rolled off your tongue like honey,

the pronunciation of my name:
a warm bath you could blanket yourself completely in
as you simply go under.

Drown in it if you could,
I would hold my breath forever.

What do I do with this pain?
Should I rip it from within me and
stick it in a blender?
Toss it aside and let it grow while
it destroys itself?
Take my longing and misplace it!
Someone will find it and make a better
host anyway.
I am not good company,  not even to loneliness.
Perhaps it will feel neglected and leave on
its own accord.
But when it does I’ll chase it down
and beg it to give me one more chance.
Because nothing makes me feel
more alive...
more human.

Part of being free
is realizing that you are not.

Only then will you truly have
the anger,
the passion,
the determination,
and the thirst
to free yourself from
What you can control
and ****** yourself
into what you cannot.

4:00AM is the time of night where
the peaceful begin to dream,
the weak find their sleep,
and the dammed lay awake

sinking further into themselves.

It is not their tired mind that
earns them eventual rest,
but the weight of their eyelids.

Missing you is hell on earth.