I miss the warm days of youth,Of being a fool in love,But these cold days aren't so bad.Quiet loneliness,Like a cup of black coffee,Takes getting used to.
Don't doubt my passion,My desperate wanting,The ceaseless hunger,that drives all men like meto take up the pen.
A light kiss against your ear,That you nuzzle into, laughing, fun, A speck of black nail polish, That you'd pick at, then laugh when I'd watchA pendant you often touch,That you said to never ask about,A sad sort of expression,That you might have thought you hid from meA little lists of your things,Left behind in … Continue reading Left Behind
Dark images form pools on a white field. Film developing. Your face, obscured.
I love these girls who livea relationship, a moment,but I am old and covet the way,that maples grow among wildflowers.Not to say they are not beautiful,but the shade is sweetbeneath red-tinged leaves.
I cannot remember a time when January did not bring me dread,I am, after all, a child of the new year, of deep winter, of power outages,of "don't be greedy for your birthday, it was only just Christmas,"and other such memories that secretly made me wish I was a Spring Child(Queue the laughter from my … Continue reading Sweet January
"J'adore,"I wanted to say,Between your troubled sighs,and lovely exasperations.Seeking romance and surprisevia photos, text-flirtations,how else would you like to bedisappointed?
Cast out,Silver nets on starry ponds,Catching dreams darting by,Plucking shafts of moonlight,Singing the old songs,That breathe time into the air,And let fisherman grow old,While their stories only grow.
Sycophants round the Empress' throne,Cackling as Fools dripping venomous influence,Hanging all sanity from the curve of the Moon,Quietly, quietly, slake our thirst with Lovers' blood,Until our Tower crumbles with a whisper,And the Wheel circles back around,When elysian Judgment walks again.
I slept for so long,That my winter feels like forever,The cold that eats away at my memory,And the chill that settles in my throat,Stealing my thoughts and voice. I slept for so long,That spring is a long dream away,Locked away in a cold journal,Sketched in hesitant strokes,Forgotten in deepest inks. I slept for so long.