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Words like ants, running
up and down my arms, scrawled
blindly in the middle of
the night, when ideas come calling to tap
in my tired mind. Black ink, blue
ink, green ink, brown ink, colors
seeping through my skin in a rainbow
of painful letters until my blood
sings the lines of my poetry, mixing
with my ink until I think words
must flow naturally though my veins. If ink
is to become my blood, how long
until my ink runs out and my blood
starts to become only my red ink?
January 26, 2014
2:06 AM
     edited January 27, 2014
     thanks to BW for the title
You're not the kind of flower
People pluck and put into their hair
You're the kind of flower
People can’t bring themselves to pluck
And instead water it with their water bottle
A flower that deserves to bloom
And grow
My love is deep.
My love feels like the sun in my chest.
My love is the music in your ears,
Feels like the morning of a holiday.

My love illuminates and expands.
Oh, my dear...
Oh reader are you sure you want to know how it is to love her?
Are you sure you want to proceed?

My love is the upcoming STORM.
My love feels like the WAVES OF LOST SEAS.
My love BURNS IN THE FIERY PITS OF NEBULAS.
My love CONSUMES AND GROWS.
My love RIPS THROUGH MY SKIN SEARCHING FOR HER.
My love TEARS THE SKY ABOVE.
My love DEVOURS THE BROKEN STARS OF OLD.
My love DELIGHTS IN THE HEAT OF MY CORE.

My love NEEDS LOVING.
My love is the soft rain that irrigates.
My love requires her touch.
My love yearns for her kisses.

My love is her.
I love
her.
T
I have been a raging fire.
I have been an overflowing cup,
Overflowing with guilt;
I wash it down the sink.
I have been too much for everyone:
Too bold,
Too shy,
Too lustful,
Too innocent.
I poured a bucket of ice on my head
To simmer me down a little bit,
And now that I am freezing,
And I cannot feel the fire no more,
I have met you, the blaze.
And your warmth was burning off my skin,
And it was melting my face off,
And it was too much.
Far too much.
You have given me light and burning warmth,
But I cannot handle the smoke.
I now know how he felt.
I am choking,
So I have left.
I will be too little and too much on my own.
I do not need a spark to jolt me.
.... . / ... .- .. -.. / - .... .- - / - .... . -.-- / .-- . .-. . / .- .-.. .-.. / -- .- -.. / .- - / -- . .-.-.-
In every moment I exist, I miss you,
And for some reason, I feel you miss me too.
I'm tired of the ordinary,
With you, my bed becomes our sanctuary.

I hope one day you give our future a chance.
In all my dreams, you are the only one I dance.
Even the angels high in the clouds
Are jealous of the love that we have found.

— The End —