"infatuations" poems
.
**Crushes or
infatuations
•••don't last
••••this long.
•They're never
••this intense
•••••Never
this strong.
••I am in
thought,
••all day
and all night.
•••••Through
•••••moments of
••••••triumph and
•deepest, darkest fright.
•••I see you in all there is,
•••••I see you in everything.
••••••••Living in the present
••••but for the future I'm hoping
•••You calm and get me all riled up
••••••••••••••••at the same time.
••••••••••••You exist in metaphors,
••••••••••••••••••broken sentences
•••••••••••••and time worn rhymes.
•••••••••••••••••You give me life
••••••••••••••and take my breath
•••••••••••away altogether.
•••••••••You hold the key
to my erratic emotional lever.
•••••••••••You fill me full
••••••••••but empty me out
••••••••••••simultaneously.
••••You make me want to be
•••••••••••someone else
••••••••as well as being me.
••••••Paradoxes of the heart
•••they can never be quelled.
••••When hopes and odds
••try to be one and meld.
•••••This is how I know
••••••••that this is real.
•••••••••••••I'm truly,
•••••••••madly, deeply
••••••in love with you
•and it's all that I feel.**
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
I was a lost soul
In this world so cold
Where everyone knows the mind becomes corrupted
Because everything in life is about money cars
and that ****** seduction
Just becareful bcus if u get ****** in
Ull cnfuse love with lust
Money for power
In it's self a contradiction
But still has Everyman wishing
For the life of a superstar when really it's the little ones that make galaxies
but see we are confused by our own infatuations nd a touch of insanity
So here I am trying to figure out my souls anatomy
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
.
**Crushes and••
infatuations•••
Are but tricks••
played by••••
the heart.••••
Promises•••
of love••••
That could••
tear you apart.••
Though you•••••
look to•••••••••••
The light of day.••••••
Listen carefully••••••••
To what I'm about to say.•••
I may be the one••••••••••
Who'd grace your thoughts••••
all day and night.•••••••••••••
But I implore you•••••••••••••••
to look past tomorrow••••••••••••••
Into the future that's out of sight.•••••••
You are ready to carve••••••••••••••••
Ever so recklessly,••••••••••••••••••
In your heart and thoughts•••••••
And in the words•••••••••
of your poetry.••••••••
But know that•••••••
These sweet nothings•
you chose to lay,•••••
Right now are•••••••
mere words••••••••••
With the intention•••••••
to sway.••••••••••••••••••
I feel the urge•••••••••••••••
To painfully declare.••••••••••
I feel the need••••••••••••••
To tell you what••••••••••
I've longed to bare.••••
That I'm not•••••••••••••
remotely interested,•••••••••
Nor am I taken in.•••••••••••
For your words•••••••••••••
have gone around••••••••••
I know where•••••••••
they've been...••••••
Should've revised••
your material•••••
Before trying•••••
on another...•••••
Because you••••
had conveyed••
the same•••••
to my sister!**
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
*I've been through illusions- feeding up my delusions.
I called this love- while your's infatuation.*
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
*Electric Dreams Of My Radioactive Ex,
Bio-Digital Jazz Tap Dancing Us Into ***
Lucid Infatuations Infused In Whiskey,
Cupid Fairytales Conceiving Frisky,
A Perpetual Beauty Smoldered In Ecstatic Bliss,
Sublime Sins Between Her Rosy Lips With Velvet Kiss,
Romantic Burns Galvanized In Her ****** Desires,
Seductive Stardust Enchanting My Feisty Fires,
Encoded Serenity In Her Decoded Virginity,
Recoding Obscenities Of Her Fragrant Sexuality,
Hazel Echoes Raining Intimate Bouquets,
Rekindling, Her Drug That Fondles In Her Moaning Glaze,
Enraptured Catalysts Animating In Her Cuddles,
Euphoric Elations Climaxing Into Her Satin Snuggles.
- 02:17AM -*
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
I’ve recently developed a hypothesis
It’s crazier than the idea of an atheist
The truth is the hardest pill to swallow when it stings like a vaccination
So I’m dealing with the fact that my love may be broken
I’ve had a broken heart but those can be repaired
With time, effort and divine intervention
The fibers of the heart can be re-stitched together
But my love – my ability to love – seems to be destructive
When you care too much, you lose what you wanted most
I wanted you; so I said so
That worked like a poison, numbing your feelings for me
My love is like a broken boomerang
I throw it out with heartfelt emotions
Hoping and waiting for your love in return
But my love never comes back at all
It doesn’t even come back as a letter ‘returned to sender’
It simply died when it was on its way
Whether in your negligence or on the journey love take us on
My love died like a single drop of water in the desert
I wish I could figure out the enigma of love and the defect mine seems to have
My love is broken like a bird without her wings
Grounded against her nature and denied to possibilities of true life
My love is withering in my own heart – you can only love yourself so much
I was ready to give you all I am
But somewhere along the way I feel like my love is not only broken…
I tried another time to love another soul
My broken love had a heart attack and died in route to the grave
It wasn’t taken to a hospital because my love was a lost cause
Something unworthy of its name; love
My love was never seen as love by any other being
It was seen as infatuations or crushes that crushed life out of attraction
So now that my love is dead, what do I have to offer the world?
We all respond to lost love in our own way
I would fight until I had no breath or strength – then again
Maybe it’s not my love you need, or even want
That’s the trouble with loving you
I overstep, overlook and over-wish
My love was just too strong for it’s own good
Now I weep in the arctic for the faithless cruelty
An arctic that I call summer from the frozen tundra of my heart
Hell has frozen over – hell has become my heart
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 7:40 PM UTC
There are two types
of punches
in this world
and I'll take them
both.
Maybe one
right in the face
before I become
the punch line
to your insensitive
little jokes
(sorry I forgot
to laugh this time.)
And even then
I'll take them gladly
as the blood
makes its acquaintance
with my tears
and my fears
become entangled
with fury.
Hurry up.
Tell me
that no one
will ever love me
and that I'm just
another ugly girl
in a ****** up world
that will do nothing
but swallow me whole
and purge me
once it tastes my
bitterness.
I'm sorry
I wasn't
sweet enough
for you.
You.
Craver of life's
toxic temptations.
Infatuations
with the
nicotine filled paper
you place
between your lips
and the horror stories
you read at three
in the morning
as you wish to become
another doomed character
created by your favourite authors.
But you didn't even bother
to realize that
our lives are the horror stories
and as much as I wanted
to put the book down
I kept screaming for more.
Always craving
but never satisfied.
And all I can hear is
daddy crying out
"You could have died!"
"You could have died!"
You
could
have
died.
I don't care,
god ******
I thought the
tears in his eyes
would have
stopped me
but the
spilled blood
on the floor
was so taunting
and I knew
right then
that I'd
always
want
more.
I guess I really am
a *********
because you know
for a fact that I
would kiss
the hands
that punched me
in the face
one
too
many
times
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 12:05 AM UTC
Gene Wilder's ***** Wonka* once asked me
to step into a world
of pure imagination
and I danced to his voice
of sugary imperfections.
The swelling strings drizzled
on top falsetto inflections
captured me childishly
with candy-coated attentions
But even the finest chocolate melts,
and I learned to let purity be
pushed by treacly lyrics
or stern midgets secure
in their fudge-topped zealotry.
It sifts too pretty for me,
powdering my grown-up
infatuations with petty
wants, getting a little messy
What I crave instead's stained-glass contraptions
to propel me past the stretches
of biblical proportion
where light and dark don't mix.
I'm no Idiot, good-hearted
in the veins of Fyodor
or Akira, and I can't see
beyond the pure tedium
of a blurredly driven snow
I like my mental drifts grime-choked and splotched
with some savory do
dropped in to dissolve flossy
confections to a salted soup
of imagined impurity.
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 6:08 PM UTC
Your just sad,
stupidity of the most flamboyancy
you throw your arrow's
catching others off guard,
showing them the illusionary's
to something fake.
Oh no you don't!!!
I'd **** for much less
but I'd **** you slowly painfully
if you stick me with that!
I'd hurt you and make you suffer
slowly- meticulously
like you've made me hurt, cry,
die a bit each time- so many many times.
time after time I failed & fell prey to your games...
your sick mind must be wondering
what next you can do
to me
Baby baby baby...........
I'm no longer blind to your wicked deeds
and all your silly schemes.
I got your number
and yet you still
think your gonna fool me,
Not this round and never again,
you should be ashamed of yourself
for the misconducts and falsehoods you
and your magical arrow's have
shown so many, not just me.
all kinds of being from ever walks of life,
all around the world.
Your silly & sad really,
and truth be told someone
must have ruined your love long ago
I heard ya momma did you in and for what?
Beauty is only skin deep or so they say.
she must of hated that your love was given
to someone else!
Did you do it, huh did ya?
Yo you fucked ya momma
huh?
Your a stupid bastard- yes you,
Kama, Amor, or so they called you
MR CUPID,
I hate everything you claim to stand for
if you understood true love
You'd know ya arrow's cause lust & desire
not love,
not even real infatuations.
you've did your damage
and if you stick me again
I'll **** you!
You don't inspire romantic anythings.
You wreck happy homes
given young girls false hope
false wishing and dreams.
Cupid
you son of a ***** leave me be and go away.
Cupid
stop playing go on now get outta here!
Cupid.........
’’’’\̵͇̿̿\з=(•̪●)=ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿’̿’̿
Goodbye...
Man I swear.........
Cupid must think I'm
Stupid!
Always Me Ayeshah
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 10:57 AM UTC
That's not a God, that's a sense of entitlement
A sugarcoated dishevelment in disguise
You don't have dreams, just infatuations
Turning hope into self-indulgent lies
I turned away from New York just to know you
Silver showered soldiers singing serene
I turned away from myself just to love you
But I don't think you know what love means
You're not alone, just afraid of isolation
Afraid no one will be better than me
I'm not that great, I say without hesitation
Someone will love you more, just wait and see
My opinion of you changes like the skyline
A star among the cascading dark
Baby, don't let yourself flame out
Before the rest of your fire starts
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
She frolicked through trouble, and dandled with mischief. Alison Wonderland; everything I wished I was and so much more. Ever emanating her doe-eyed façade; proclaiming our jests mere “mischief.”
Yet, an unspoken verdict (Foretaste? Conception? Notion?) had cloaked the truth: wickedness rippled beneath our parade.
I nuzzled her contours; my peripheral eye – nailed to her profile, her blueprints, her chassis. I stalked her mirage – dancing with vapor.
She glissaded about, no fool to my truth, varnishing my mantle.
I belonged to Alison: perpetually at her side. Our couplet became a “we.” So, We regretted nothing. We veered for the pyre: caroming(skimming?) those embers alit with vice.
She narrated my mental seminar. Discarding my dogmas to uphold her own; and thus, my mind was hers.
My mind was her mind.
Alison made heads turn, and mouths water, as we sidled – hand in hand – down the street. She was my Christmas morning: each colloquium – giftwrapped with finesse. She personified paradise, she illustrated utopia. Hatching our Carnival; netting us, enamored, sidling the Carousal. We’d skim, we’d sail, her halo – my fossil. Her lips, her eyes, her hands… they echoed the innocence of a child. Niave, innocent, and giftwrapped in wonder.
Little Miss Wonderland: my very own fairytale. She was mine alone; she was mine to keep.
Did I want her, or did I want to be her?
Alison Wonderland.
Her aura – so celestial – paralleled my prose. When she banished my husk – Maple Thatcher – I cackled good riddance… And I grew a new personality to accommodate her own.
For, without Ali – devoid of our we – I doubted the very existence of me.
On my composition, she bestowed rhythm. She gave tune to my silence; her chimes, her cadence. My ink was her song – fusing a symphony. A symphony of Alison: the melody to solidify our tryst.
My mind was her mind.
And yet… somehow, I missed a carriage – or two – aboard her train of thought. For, the same felon spiting my existence, was the angel I loved to life. Gladly, I huffed, and I puffed, and I blew Maple down.
Fused against Alison, I needed none of Maple.
Carnival infatuations…
Alison Wonderland.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
with all this sleepless night
wide eye like butterflies
fields of yesterday's pain
take a step to look
feel the whispers at the back
memories again haunted me
with all your pretty lies
words of shredded disguise
a promising of dreams
only to have realize
a state of foolish paradise
storming forever haunted me
with every blinded glass
musing images of our past
infatuations overtaking
wondering why it never last
weeping every tear to fall sleep
a finished love that haunted me
with every sickening heed
a figure keeps to overdue
fragments, a drowning sea
twisted disenchantment
on the floor, now gently fading
ending, but still haunted me
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC
I'm cautious to a fault
I've never stared down
The barrel of a gun
I've never held
A blade to my wrists
But I've thought about it.
I was never a girl of extremes
I've never drunk
Poison until I passed out
I've never let my lips
Inhale ash
But I contemplated it.
I was never careless
After a few painful infatuations
And unrequited feelings
I fell in love
And this time, he loves me too
But somehow my heart is still fractured.
I cannot help but wonder
How someone so sensible
So careful
Can still be so messed up
When they have done nothing but
Tread without fault.
The thoughts and feelings
That I do my best to ignore
Stifle me, suffocate me
Even overwhelm me, sometimes
I'm cautious to a fault
And it terrifies me.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
Pharmacopoeias
Pseudo psychedelic phantasms
Kaleidoscopic deliriums
Mushroom acerbic cloud igniting
Truth denying exposition
Chemical makeup
Dressed to ****
From seed
To harvest
To market
To dinner plate
To grave
In wooden box decaying
Infatuations with infrastructures in frustration
Genetically modified bullets
BT Corn ripping organs
Exposing the explosion
Imploding on a sunny afternoon in March
Ants on the streets
Trampled by elephants’ ***** in the parade
Rats in slavery’s maze
Corporations’ corporate mandates
Sold out government conspiracy
To cover up the conspiracy of conspiracies
TV eyes ratted out you and yours
A fist-full of dollar bills
Some odd change to clink in the wishing well
Monsanto seeds die at plantation
Reincarnation of a deadly virus
Sow the soil and reap rewards of petulance pestilence
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
Life without her is like life without the sky, 70% of what it could be. Those were the first words i heard of her and they've never left me since.
She could make anything and anyone sound enticing; she does make everything and everyone sound enticing. She makes me complete; she makes me a poet. Maybe it's because she's so poetic simply by the way she is. The way her words flow out of her so effortlessly; the way she'll pick up and leave at a moments notice if it means an adventure with one of her many human infatuations; the look she gives when her words aren't enough to show her affections; the way she gives me that look with those cherry eyes of hers. The way she looks when i speak of those cherry eyes cause the meaning of that description still baffles her to this day; how she doesn't know the way her eye lashes curl up and flare out, more than ever in those moments; how's there's a sparkle in her eyes she'll never see because it only comes out when she gives that look, a look im sad to think she'd never give her self. She'll never see herself. She sees energies and dynamics and persons and places and sometimes it's through a lense of grey, but her view is spectacular unlike any other; this is why when im with her i get caught up in the moment, nothing but what matters matters. I share a glimpse of that view just for a while; it's like driving when the sun is setting and finally coming to an open field with the perfect view. But the view of her is better. I don't want to experience anything new but with her; each and every abandoned house, nights of wasting a full tank of gas, adventures on bus rides to unplanned places, all the seasons and random trips without reasons.
We first met in summer, sometime in june. The days were sweet and we'd only fall asleep to our tune. Now fall will come and as the wind will carry away our bad thoughts we'll only be left with the good ones that we'll leave on the pages of our notebooks we found together. I know we'll carry on until winter, drinking our coffee to keep us warm after cold sleepless nights because i wasn't there to be her blanket and she wasn't there to block everything out of my mind. Then spring will be next, our last new season together. When the cherries blossom and you'll still wreck the car before you hit that possum and ill never want those cherry eyes to end watching those morning skies with me. And when those cherry eyes can't see the colors of those cherry skies ill show you its colors through a not so poetic description, hoping that in your world of grey i can accurately portray the beauty of its rays because my eyes are the same color as your view and my soul wants to share any part it can with you.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
It may be the simplistic idea of remembering something you wish to forever forget
Or realizing the well known unimaginable as a futuristic reality
Perhaps the sad final solution to your seemingly endless suffering
Could it be the fact that what once was there is everything less than dust?
I am unable to fathom what it truly feels like
Due to registering only my own emotions and mental infatuations
So, let me describe a stilled serene place in time
Where through overwhelming tension and all that disregards any sparks of hope and happiness
A smile is enough to hold a thousand defined words
Words that tell stories of anything that could and could not be
The deranged evil and the vicarious good
Which smile you wear is that of your choosing
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
most of us aren't in love
we're in lust
or like
or crushing or swooning or "in the honeymoon stage"
we're infatuated, "in love with the idea of love"
...lonely...
it seems silly really
that love, true love, real love
the kind that isn't a feeling in the morning that changes with your mood
is so rare, almost unattainable
like the infinitesimally small atom resting at the very tip of a needle
but we still hope
us non-lovers i mean. we strive
like gatsby for that green light we want to be (in) love(d)
we go about it different ways-- through crushes and infatuations and "s(he)'s hot" 's
but all us non-lovers
we're trying to love
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Everyone's searching for something they can't find; wanting something they can't have. We're all stuck there, wondering what to do. Wondering if we'll ever find what we're looking for or get what we want. And then there are the times we realize that the answer is no and we stop searching, stop wanting, and come to grips with the fact that life is just not fair. It's a fault in human beings, thinking that everything has to go their way and that life has to be fair.
The scars on my arms have almost completely faded away. Is it strange that I feel a sense of loss? They were my company, my best friends. I could sit there and stare at them for hours, fascinated with how ****** up I'd become. But now they're leaving and I can either bring them back or find some new "friend" that will occupy my time and my mind. I'm not sure if I'm ready to let them go.
There's a post I saw on Tumblr that says "I'm sorry I gave you everything I had without making sure you wanted it." It reminds me of all the ******** in my past. It reminds me of you.
I'm not meant to fall in love or be loved. It seems I'm just destined for shallow infatuations and brief lust affairs. I'm wary of "forever"s because forever has always been measured in days, weeks, or months when it comes to me.
The worst part is that I can't blame anyone for leaving. No one in their right minds would want to deal with me.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
It was 2 a.m, as usual.
The doorbell rang and I knew right away
who would be slouched against the rusty gate
stuffed with cylindrical flyers full of food i'll never buy.
Hunched over in a hand me down coat
with that strange scarf I never liked tied around your throat.
You flashed a smile, a brief “hey” slipping through it's lack of authenticity.
and I mimicked you, as babies do, and stepped barefoot onto the
cigarette littered leaf scattered stoop, a bowl of knock off cereal cupped
in both my hands, my hair still wet, my mind still drunk.
I fumbled to the stairs and placed myself atop them
and you mimicked me, as babies do,
placing your fragile frame beside me, a few more inches away than usual.
Without hesitation you slid through your speech
and I nodded and smiled and continued to attempt to attract you
despite circumstance, despite that glowing ominous ornament
dangled high in sky, distracting my eyes and passing the time.
We agreed to demolish whatever was left standing from that wall we built,
of awkward breakfasts, yearning eyes across parties, anonymous hairs on jackets,
make out sessions on tattered couches, greetings with waves.
All the details deleted, left unfinished, perhaps one day to be returned to.
As unlikely as I figured it to be.
I rose to my feet, the wind whipping down 21st street,
my tar black makeup still loosely lining my eyes,
I gently rested my head on that shoulder I so briefly admired,
and admitted to my early infatuations; the poems I had written but would never share.
You protested, said you were curious of them.
I denied you, and you didn't ask again.
But if you would've- just once more.
I would've read you them.
Maybe even this one.
But you didn't,
and much like babies,
we mimicked each other
and crawled away.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 10:22 AM UTC
I've fallen
fallen badly
to be honest
I'm hooked on you
infatuations a lot more of a dangerous drug
than you'd think
you said we'd never be
that you were broken
I want to fix you
but I'm not quite sure I can
I'm not sure my clumsy hands
can handle your fragile heart
held together by only the faintest hope
that maybe true love does exist
I wanna tell you that I
adore you
but I won't take the chance
cause I'm terrified
of your random nonchalance
you told me I was your world
but how was I meant to feel special
when you bounce from world to world
like some 21st century space traveling Columbus
I was always told myself I was in love with
you
but as of lately
I've come to realize
I was less in love with you
& more in love with the dismal idea
of being part of an "us"
I guess
that I've learnt
that it's only from the shards of a broken heart
that we learn the dangers of infatuation
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
Romantically, it is when we lie in a pool of passion where dreams flood our souls and engulf our hearts. It is the ****** of all infatuations when lust changes into love.
In reality, it is much simpler.
It is when we reveal the rips on our jeans, the crumbs on our floor, that weird freckle on our backs, the shirts we have stolen, the keys we have lost, the dust on our shelves, the journals we wrote, the letters we never sent, the stories from our past, and the lives we thought we deserved.
Intimacy is the privilege to witness someone in their most vulnerable state, to accept all their blemishes, and somehow remain in utter bliss.
That my friend is intimacy.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
*Darkness cracked by the beam of
my halogen lamp, the glow illuminates
the emptiness within the night.*
*The blood drips from the ***** of
my fingertip, creating the shape of
a distorted rose on the dusty table.*
*The tip of my tongue stings
from the poignant taste of acrimony;
the depth of tender thoughts muted.*
*The words I desperately need remain
hidden within the convolution; speechless,
the silence wreaks havoc on my eardrums.*
*My pen is dry, the ink evaporated
from the inconsistent flow of diction;
these infatuations longing to touch the paper.*
There is nothing so, I quietly wait.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
I hear the song
of this street
a happier song
than the blues of Denver
destitution with gaiety
more hope and love,
worn souls and bodies
hoping for the
loose change that
usually ends up lost
between couch cushions
in exchange
for a simple show
instead of begging
for sympathy
carefully arranged
planter boxes
to match the seasons
and jubilance of
passers by juxtaposed
with the whitening beard
of a ***** old man
hustling for a buck
for **** or food or *****
you will never know
except for the few
honest cardboard signs
the two a.m. ***
happy and ******
eagerly striking a
conversation with
lone students
out for a simple walk
looking only for
someone to talk to
because no one
is a desert island,
we need imports
and exports of
thoughts, ideas,
and emotions
to keep the small
piece of land bearable
the man in a mask
with no skin showing
playing congas
on a hot Colorado day
hoping for a
pocket full of change,
face hidden; like
his beaten past
he is humble—
anonymously playing
for a dollar
or few without
shock or pizzazz
adults buying a drink
while a block down
children buy an
ice cream cone
both a vice
modern jazz, which flows
over the red bricked street
guitars, bongos, violins,
Home Depot bucket drums
melding together into
one, spontaneous song
improvised by the ebb
and flow of tourists
and natives with
changing verses of
a woman’s opinion
strongly voiced to a survey
while her husband
keeps the beat with his foot
—never allowed to sing
the chorus of children
shrieking and crying
in the dissonance of youth
reflected in early couples
sing infatuations
short and fleet, struggling
to keep a foot hold, but
fading like pop songs…
the experienced couples
creating movements of
pain, joy, and maturity,
dynamic blues riffs
full of emotion only
those who have felt
could understand
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
this summer has been a mix of intoxications.
of infatuations and complications.
someone who wanted to spend the entire summer
together no longer wants to communicate past a simple
"hello".
someone who i wanted to spend the entire summer with vanished after the final graduation celebration.
my closest brother took one step too far off the diving board
and closed his eyes before he knew someone was there to save him.
the perspiration on my good friends lip caused me to turn away in fear of change and therefore abandonment.
I'll leave this hometown
in less than two weeks.
Summer will be over and all its intoxicating breaths.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
Quintessential,
Queen of Emotions,
Sensational,
Brings out passions
For what you never
Cared before...
Flabbergastingly
Seduces the quill
To scrawl about her...
Queen Love,
With a fiery crown
Of Blue Diamonds,
Pink Hearts,
Red Roses,
Olive Twigs...
Desire throbs
On her fingertips...
Melodies sprout
From her lips...
Queen Love,
With a proud crown,
Bringing everyone together
With a swish of her gown...
Turns the Sweet Brier
Into Roses of Love,
Her elegance,
Skill to tame...
The wild succumbs,
The cruelly powerful
Kneels down before
Queen Love...
Healed the wounds
Of a heart
Fractured by Infatuations,
Queen Love,
The Queen of Emotions...
June 15th, 2010
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 4:05 AM UTC