Passion is luscious, wet and warm,
Admiring the curves of each others form.
Starts all hurried, urgent the fervor,
Grows to epic proportions and even further.
The rhythm is steady, like a metronome’s beat,
We marvel at the feeling, makes us complete.
It’s a flower, song, or meal to sustain us through life.
It tempers our tribulations; everyday strife.
Passion, for love, is sometimes mistaken,
When we find that it’s not, feeling forsaken.
A passion for life is just as rewarding,
Each step of the way our mind is recording.
Memories hold our life’s short passage,
Some go through them, teetering on cliff’s edge.
Some go out with a flash, some a flicker,
With passion for life, it seems to come quicker.
Thank heaven for passion; it’s truly a blessing,
Without it mankind would perish, about that; I’m not guessing.

It's just too much to move right now
Through the pounding, tightening bass
of life rushing through my chambers
Each successful movement of blood pulls me down further

My heart feels dry, hung inside my chest with only a rusty nail
It is clambering against my throat with every beat
Deafening my mind

I have to move or my chest will implode

I **** cold air into my dusty heart
in a rhythm that makes no sense

And it starts to accelerate

But my thoughts are empty...
And my soul knows better

It relays these messages to my heart
my heart drums the rhythm of reality throughout my body.
I can't ignore it
I can't fix it.




I swallow all of the tightness,
burning, dreams and screams

This time, it's forcing its way out of my bile and into my heart
It runs through my veins, and never rests
It is no longer a quiet frustration
No longer a memory, or the past
It's my throat
It's my stomach
It's coming out
forcing its way through my mind
Now it's grown
It burns like so much blood

I can't swallow down fire
I can't hold it in my mouth
It doesn't drip like blood
It grows
It destroys
It burns off the dust of my soul
The smell is what brings me here
To panic, to gag... to sob.
The smell of the living dead memories
Burning inside by the fire of all that pain awake... again.

Powered by a thirsty rush
I seek to destroy an innocent touch
To tear apart the thickening rust
Sharpen my razor against everlasting love
Fumed with pale malice, a sickening lust
I rip the flesh that harbors my trust
Cringe at bleak stares as my knife thrusts
Passion immolated, heaved and crushed

You live a life not quite worth living.
Tell me, how is it befitting
to dance around and laugh all day
yet, underneath, house all this pain?
It isn't right to cry at night
And in the morn' say it's alright.
Pretending life is worth your while:
That, my dear, is called denial.
If you can laugh and dance at day,
Then surely you can stand to say
That laughing isn't half the fun
When you're laughing alone without anyone.
And dancing by yourself can be
Anguish no one ever sees.
If you can stand to do all this,
You're strong enough to invent bliss.
But when you smile it doesn't hide
The agony you feel inside.
And your dancing isn't giddy steps;
It's pain inside your lost heart's depths.
Dancing solemnly with a ghost of a grin,
You're waiting for this life to end.
But to say this is life would be a lie;
This is just what happens before you die.

NEVER LOOK BACK

Some advice I gave my children
Right from their early years
Never regret the life you led
But look to your  life ahead

Never go back after moving on
Because things are not the same
For whatever the reason it ended
You must take some of the blame

I have seen some people return
To the life that they once claimed
But once again it ends in disaster
With feeling crippled and maimed

So open your minds and hearts
To a life that needs to move on
With all the emotions we lacked
And you will never look back

There was one a-riding grand
  On a tall brown mare,
And a fine gold band
  He brought me there.

A little, gold band
  He held to me
That would shine on a hand
  For the world to see.

There was one a-walking swift
  To a little, new song,
And a rose was the gift
  He carried along,

First of all the posies,
  Dewy and red.
They that have roses
  Never need bread.

There was one with a swagger
  And a soft, slow tongue,
And a bright, cold dagger
  Where his left hand swung--

Craven and gilt,
  Old and bad--
And his stroking of the hilt
  Set a girl mad.

There was one a-riding grand
  As he rode from me.
And he raised his golden band
  And he threw it in the sea.

There was one a-walking slow
  To a sad, Iong sigh.
And his rose drooped low,
  And he flung it down to die.

There was one with a swagger
  And a little, sharp pride,
And a bright, cold dagger
  Ever at his side.

At his side it stayed
  When he ran to part.
What is this blade
  Struck through my heart?

Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.