I was the one who swallowed the sun
and yet it is your touch that burns
on to my skin like an insignia of shame;
halos of quiet desperation,
a footprint on the welcome mat to our own
little hell.

So the next time you cry for your skin,
remember
I scar for you.

There is a quote out there
somewhere
that sums up exactly
how i feel
i haven't read it yet
and so
am left with only
my own words.

Sitting, drinking tea while watching the rain come wandering down
a smile brought on by cool breeze on misted skin
steam rising from the cup in front, the fragrant herbs steeping
and cascading come memories of other times
of once close people and far away places
and endless cups of tea

No matter where i wander, be it deserts cold or mountains rugged
there are always memories of those left behind in time
bring they a smile, a grin or a tear to flow my face
i will find joy in seeing them again
even if only inside my mind
and over a cup of tea.

Doubting self
doubting mind
disbelieving thoughts unkind
pressures tapped
ideas are thrown
begging tropes to the unknown
knees are bent
back is arched
spare  me oh the screams are parched
a mind on fire
no light its dark
a thousand voices pour into the nightmare park
red staring
cease to cry
rivers pour from desert eyes
let me go
leave me be

leave me be

You are
The whispering of the sea
Crashing anger at violent shores-
Lapping lovingly at lonely rocks.

You are
The affectionate bite,
And pressed tooth on lip. A brutish
But gentle expression of passion.

You are
The soft murmur of uncertainty,
Rustling against soft skin-
A (lost) exhale of heaving breath.

*Your skin and flesh and bones
Are I think not made of
All the same stuff as mine.

   You are water; you're iron;
   You are whistling wind.
   You're the purest sin
   In which I've ever sunk.