Bear traps and snares?
My dear, who cares?

Penetrating darkness
And tortures heartless
I could sleep through that
And dream regardless

La dee da
Boo biddy by
I don’t scare easy
My sweetie pie

I laugh at pain
I walk on nails
But I’ll tell you now
What turns me pale

What shakes my soul
It’s most profound
In every day
And every sound

It beckons my smile
And sleeps in my tears
My dearest, your love
Is the sum of my fears

Missing the hands I used to hold
Your hands in mine, very tight hold,
never letting go of the hands I hold
Then I realized the hands I hold
is not mine to hold...
I let go your hands
It breaks my heart, it feels too cold
My hands too old
My heart too cold
Not again I hold....
Your hands not mine to hold

All I want is someone is crazy and messed up as much as I am
who won't give up on me
who can handle fire
and can catch snowballs for me with a naked hand
is it so hard to get?
So yes maybe I'm complicated
maybe I'm mentally sick
but I swear I'm **worthy

What did I do to deserve all this?
I've always been there even when I wasn't asked to be around.
I've always lied to myself saying we're okay when I know we're not.
I've always kept my feelings to myself when I'm hurt or sad.
I've tried to keep it simple even though I was burning every night while you sleep like a king.
Remember the kingdom we once made? it's on fire just like the queen , or lets say the ex queen ,dead queen or the left behind queen.
I've always watched my own kingdom from the outside , and I saw my castle being ***** by fake *******.
I've never blamed those ******* but I keep on blaming you and only you my LOVE.

their love
was like a lazy sunday
easy-going and free
until one day
she was unsure
if the man named bill
who asked for her hand
was the one she truly loved
but she tucked that thought away
and called him "lovey"
in an attempt to feel the same
the same way  he always had
but fifty years later
she imagines all the adventures she missed
by not loving the man
to whom she said yes

The darkness intensifies everything.
The dripping air conditioner.
The thoughts steadily bleeding like ink.
The drum of your heart beat.

Come over here.
We bought this love seat for a reason.
No use in wasting such a lovely purchase.
Good Lord, no.
My only motivation is proper stewardship of our possessions, you gorgeous man.
No, I don’t have secret agenda of snuggling and reading a book curled up in the nook of your arm.
Just sit yourself down here and read your literature.
We won’t talk.
We will sit silently.
Absorbing.
Inhaling.
If I reach over to your arm, don’t flinch.
Just curl to my shape.
Just grip my shoulder like it is a pen and you are a writer.
Then write about my not-so-unknown intentions in your margins.