|curious, magical, thoughtful, perhaps a bit audacious. :)|
Hanging above my head, much like a question. Something suitable to tell you, and settle your mind. Your claws sunk deeply into my back, and I feel the weight of you in every thought and breath I take. I don't need to know more, and I can't know less. Your frayed, chaotic, forever beautiful. And as the cracks spider out, you glow and burst into a million pieces inside of me. I miss you and I know that you'll never return, not the same as before anyways.
Like a pendulum he swings, and a gust of wind moves over me with reckless abandon. Deliberately chaotic. Inherently contentious.
He leaves me and yet I miss him all the same. Why does it feel like I'm stuck in this revolving door? I can't escape you. I could move on at this point, but I have spent so long wanting you, my rare flower.. several times I could almost taste the future between us, always bubbling ready to froth. I won't pretend to understand you and after all this time I'm used to your departure. I don't know what you are to me, but I need you. Even if it's just a memory I'll cling to, I need you..
-an ode to hemlock
Love is sort of like an endless spring to drink from while at the same time having this insatiable thirst. Love is the ember to which seeds all other desires. It's a pleasurable kind of mental torture. Like a vampire I sink my teeth into love knowing it nourishes my body and soul but it will not sustain me corporally but rather eternally. Love is feeling someone's shadow upon you and feeling them feel you with their spirit. Love is a lighthouse and we're all sailors searching for a beacon.
Little rabbit following with eyes shut closely, blinded.
A pale moon hangs over us still and with our hearts it's binded.
Wondering about the fox, the rabbit knows that he's still wanted.
But as he gazes at her, quietly his mind becomes quite haunted.
He sees her face, he sees her eyes, and then her lips, their voracious.
He hears a whisper lingering in the air, always something quite flirtatious.
Sweet Rabbit dancing in the moonlight, know I love you so completely, and when the sun hangs overhead you'll be in my heart repeating.
His nature stirs me. I watch him shift, and slip into different skins. It's strange, his face and tongue never change. Not a hint nor a tinge one way or the other, and he fancies himself all sorts of things I never actually see him as. What a world we live in, where everyone is living their own universe completely unaware of this beautiful chaos, save for chance encounters with rare beings of light showing you their different faces and facets. Wondering if you'll get the splendour or live in the shadows.
Follow your light. Mingle with strange.
Darkling, I listen. waiting for your tune to trickle down and colour me senseless. Slipping thru veils to see your different faces. I don't know if it's possible to possess you, and I wonder if that's even a good idea. It would feel like jarring a butterfly. I never know why I chase you. I suppose it's rather nice to have a beautiful butterfly to wander after when the winds change.
I don't know why I keep walking up to this same red door. Always lurking in my peripheral view, haunting me when I forget it's there. But I never forget. Biding my time, I wait. As if it mattered when I approached, all that truly matters is that I twist and pull the handle. And do you want to know something? I never find what I expect to be waiting. It's always a pale vision, a hologram. A light flickering signaling the end, or something like a stop sign but only in a gutteral feeling. I can't pretend that I dont know what's waiting for me. What lulls me in to opening you?
Your shadow is the least tangible part of yourself and yet, simultaneously the most . There's nothing truer than the reality of your shade casting waves and mirages of thoughts unhinged and unhindered. If it goes unnoticed is it quietly slumbering? Is a thing true because it is thought by several hundred brilliant minds? How real is something you can't touch but can feel it in it's entirety? Some people wear their souls like a cloak.
Colour me red.
Said It's all in the fingers darling.
It's not in your head.
It's all just a riddle, solve it.
My pulse is singing the most delightful tune, and only he can hear it.
His eyes whisper back at me in harmony. Beating into me a rythym most sumptuous and sweet.
Muddled in a symphony of thoughts, he rages on and she's cool as ice.
Her lips traced the curve of his neck and she whispered to him, "I drew a picture of you the other night. You were faceless. But it was unmistakably you, and written above you was a pairing of my favorite Beckett and Keats quotes. Take a guess at which two if you'd like.."
Oh Hemlock, how long will we dance this time? I feel a gentle breeze stirring. Is the wind finally changing? I can almost taste a crescendo. Perhaps that's why I'm hooked on you, even if it always feels like I'm Wendy trying to help you catch your shadow.
Arched and ready to fly, he's an arrow fleeting, swimming past me in the air. Always a smile and a lingering glance, his departure is the minute hand and I've got merely seconds to catch him. Slipping through my fingertips, he escapes me alas.
A feathery crescendo, a quick descent. Love makes me your prey.
Drink your tonic darling, let the bubbles seep into your soul.
Curls are rendered ethereal and useless, but you're the Prince it would seem.
You sit in your tower..
Your lips curl into a grin more treacherous than lovely.
Hollow honey eyes do follow my every waking step and I would parish if I were to fall from your gaze.
A drop of your love to keep on living, a bow of hemlock to keep on dreaming.
Will I ever awaken from this vision you've put me in?
Forever yours and captivated endlessly,
Sweet Jasper, you've given me a ruby and your love. I'm quite enamoured with you. My bird of prey, leaving kisses across the nape of my neck. Ever the gentleman and possessor of my affections. I left you with a kiss and all I can think about is your mouth and wanting to have you again. Speaker of sensational things, warm and comforting. Nuzzle into me darling and settle once more in my heart.
I see myself in all of your faces. Does that make me narcissistic? Are we not all looking at eachother to understand ourselves? Always a question with an answer that's a question. Dancing moonlight on the river, smooth stones slippery and treacherous. Every book I want to read is a page from my soul, a reflection of your face and mine blossoming to the tune of our hearts beating and breaking in unison. Whispers of my other selves falling upon me like dandelions and bees in the breeze. Everything I want to say about you is a reflection of what I think of myself. And everything you feel about me is just a self indulgence my dear. If we tell ourselves everything we'll know nothing.
You've got me surrounded by lava, hopping over stones to get to you.
Caught in an undertow of fascination.
Riddled senseless by the rhythm of your waves.
The full moon is upon me and I'm hoping to find your face smiling down at me with the Stars.
Ever a pensive and curious creature, humbled by the magnitude of your universe.
You produce a sort of violet glow about you when you're scheming. Half moons and hidden steps to cross the lake. Pink wine and candlelights. Lingering and creeping upon me, ensnaring me in a lustrous labyrinth of vines. Dahlias and deadly nightshade, something tangible in a garden of malevolence. Am I just a belladonna in disguise? Are you truly poisonous just because I find you captivating?
I'm a masochist. Call me that I suppose. How am I supposed to know what draws me to him? Just like a moth to a flame.. and I circle and admire and get zapped. an inevitable series of failed attempts. Moments of greatness in the midst of a chaotic fury.
She stirs her coffee counterclockwise. Watching the light dance within. She loses focus and sees a man's face inside her cup. Her eyes are closed tight and still the face remains, staring up at her. His eyes are black and they pierce right through her. Wondering what moves him she takes a sip, and in a sea of flashing lights he fades away and she's left watching the orbs of light dancing in her cup, anticipating the next mystery that might reveal itself to her.
Such a relief in feeling his pulse again. I'm a spectator now. He's the question I'm always asking. A vision of something spectacular dressed in a thin veil of wonder. Is he who I think he is or am I possibly mistaken? I feel him always. Everywhere, dancing that line of my consciousness that blends into sunset dreams. He's the darkness surrounding the flame, and I'm the ember.
Wandering around waiting for it to hit me like a comet. Shall we dance my dear? They're playing my song.. It always feels familiar, smokey red wine. There's a rhythm in the depths of purple and raspberry. You are like a reflection. My shadow. Barely there but utterly tangible. I'll always run to you. And you'll always slip through my fingers. Still a game of cat and mouse is nice every now and then. ;)
Over and over you roll between his fingers. Flipping and climbing your way across a short and steep cliff. He beckons and you dance for him. A shiny coin he shows off on occasion, and when he's done back in the pocket you go. It's senseless to surrender to someone else's fancy and yet you're always eager to abandon his pocket. Predictable and relentless Hypnotherapy of sorts.
-thoughts on being his occasional sometimes maybe.
Wrapped about me like a chartreuse pashmina. Softly bidding me well and warm. If only he were a coat of fur, something formidable like a bear or a wolf. as it is he's a flower in my hair, a beautiful thing to gaze upon. Clinging to his flesh like a coat. I'm the wolf upon his back. The bear inside the man. we are only means to an end. I'm just a flame passing from candle to candle hoping to light my way but always circling my prey. I'm an owl and he's the fox.
Color me curious, they're painting scenes of you without you in them.
Silence stirs an echo stronger than my heels stomping on your heart.
Every step shatters the perception of your audience.
The curtain calls and you slip into yet another scene.
Mixed margaritas and maybe sometimes.
Everything is up for grabs, everyone is playing pretend.
Wanting everything and taking nothing.
Perusing and sauntering through violet nights.
Eclipses at sunrise.
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes.."
We are two shadows wandering from century to century. Ever tasting and poisoning each other. We are relentless. Givers. Takers. We break the walls with sludge hammers and walk around feathery light. Never having, always wanting.. waiting on a chance or subtle change in the milky way. Star children, bound to repeat. Finding each other despite the cloaks and daggers. Mirrored hallways and green eyes piercing bright. You strike me like a meteor hitting the ocean. See you in another century my love.
Pro's of being a song writer:
• You can immortalize anything and anyone.
• There's something beautiful about expressing oneself through the majesty of song.
• You get all bent out of shape every time you play/hear/sing a certain tune, that it's quite like living in a forest of ghosts.
Sifting through the haze,
Surrounded by death. Heartbeats and hospitals. Hours spent giving love and all is taken from me inevitably. I'm getting used to the nurses shuffle and beeping of machines. Still giving when ultimately everything is taken away. It's hard to feel positive. Thinking of my dad who recently passed away, watching my grandmother climb the stairs to heaven's gate surely but slowly. How to proceed in the face of such an eclipse? I can give everything and yet it's not enough, not even close.
Why does she hesitate? What moves her finally? She circles him, nearly touching.Close enough to feel the tingle of his breath on her skin. There's something of a barrier between them. As she moves her hand, he follows tracing the shooting stars left in the wake of her fingertips. Speaking in eyelashes and curls deep. We are a riddle my dear. We are clueless.