I need to write
you a love poem.
Not with
chocolates and roses.
But with firey passions
and intensity.

So intense you
Will need to sit down
as you read it.
So strong it burns
with passions you crave.
Causing your face to blush
In secret sinful thoughts.
Thoughts that slow
the time to a crawl
Before you will
share your bed
with me once more.

Words that tear
at your clothes
like an ardent lover.
Words that will
leave us as naked
as newborns.
Burning in fires
that are as
old as time itself.

You will be standing
at the edge
of a pit of flame
so dangerous we will
hold each other
in hard embrace.
So that we do not
fall into its
raging inferno.

**** you.

Today, oh today, sick with rust and decay,
The clogged streets out of town that only got in your way.
Nightingale sing-song, sing cool summer nights,
Sing seashell-string houses, please turn out the lights.
We’ll be grown-ups grown up still wondering what we will be,
She said she won’t trust anyone over 30, only Jesus and me.
And I wait and I pace down the wall by the fence,
Nervous with 3am loneliness, ramshackle suspense.
Are there still windows worth watching, back dust country roads,
Some lost place love lingers, bubbles up and explodes?
You were here, I was there, are we anywhere still?
Be my sweetest regret, I’ll be your very first ****.
And today, just today, weak with strength, far away,
Swollen with promises of forever, and no intention to stay.

I'm mad.

I'm mad I can't express myself without the fear of being judged to the point of a breakdown.

I'm mad I can't be with you and your whole existence I call perfection without being looked down upon and shamed.

I'm mad that 'us' will never exist.

I'm just mad...