Giving myself to you for youAs the snowflakes flutter toward the ground My intentions Fallow close behindGiving myself to you for you
Wicked tounge sharp liesI'm not gonna tell you all the thingsWicked tounge sharp lies
This poem isn't about I'm not gonna list what it is about either I'm not gonna thrill your minds with magical metaphors Or Heart stopping similes
I'm not gonna put words in perfect places Causing you to wish you had come up with something so brilliant I'm not gonna describe perfect sunsets Lusting upon colorful meadows Whispered to By just right breezes Seasoned with Colorless souls I'm not gonna tell you tales of star-crossed lovers Finger tips trailing perfectly around Giggling bellybuttons Perfect sm
Pie In The SkyWith sleepy eyes, I see you not I sink deep into star bathed sheets Smelling of sweet anxieties Endless thoughts YesterdaysPie In The Sky
Almost forgotten
Dreams With freshly kissed lips, I smile I fall into the memory of your moon bathed eyes Sending tiny little Love notes To my Trembling heart Glittering with Your smiles In mind As I slip away, with your love Dancing upon my heart I am nothing but Wishing Hoping Praying To dream of you……
needhelpwithtitleThe silent yearn The restless burn One sipneedhelpwithtitle
Two sip And I'm half way gone Aching for the medicine of whim Drip into my poison and spread In slow spirals of liberated liquid in liquid Breathe in the romantic nighttime air The Cold, crisp ecstasy, listening to hearts rich with poison. A tear glazes over my eyes To my surprise, I'm missing you It's hard not to Cause I'm wearing your jacket And it smells just like you Just Like cigarettes and salty tears And cold nights when you were wishing I was there with you Nights when you were the only reas
your walls look too thinIt's December and I don't know which is worse- the fact that I can still feel your gasping fingers, pulling through the tangles of my mermaid hair or that my clock still shows eleven-eleven andyour walls look too thin
I am tired of wishing
-
It's the week when the trees regret not wearing mittens, the lines in a permanent wrinkle on my mother's forehead and Noah's Ark is being recreated in every fucking hallway It's the time when I miss picking myself up again and again for you
-
It's your birthday and I forgot. I'm cross-legged and crumpled
disenchantedmy name on your lips is a reproachdisenchanted
a promise unkept
a bed unmade
a candle unlit in dark places
f
Yearning
--
"MMM" BUTTERFLYS.
--
"L'individu n'est que la somme des personalités qu'il abrite. "
" je sais que jplait pas à tout le monde, mais quand jvois à qui jplait pas, jme demande si ca m'derange vraiment!"
--
"MMM" BUTTERFLYS.
--
"MMM" BUTTERFLYS.
--
"MMM" BUTTERFLYS.
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