Maybe I was destined to forever fall in love with people I couldn’t have.
Tell the Wolves I’m Home
Maybe I was destined to forever fall in love with people I couldn’t have.
Tell the Wolves I’m Home
How can we die, when we live on in each other’s memories?
A brush of paint,
a scratch of ink,
a drop of blood –
we’re all artists
in our own right.
A kiss on the cheek
Staying apart for a long week
Simplicity is beauty
but it is agonising.
Let me touch your face, follow the outlines of wrinkles still yet to form.
I’ll trace my name over your heart so when death reaches us, we won’t be apart.
Let me whisper a thousand love stories in your ear
that would outrage our grandparents.
Pretty whore.
I’ll memorise your body like the favourite book you are to me,
so exciting, thrilling, tempting.
Dirty love.
The best kind.
Lust is Saturday night;
love is Sunday morning.
On an autumn morning when the sun is just beginning to rise,
and mist still suffocates the air with its veiled blanket of moisture,
a chill caresses your body as you are exposed to the raw cold.
This feeling of goosebumps crawling across my skin
and shivers waltzing down my spine
is sort of how I feel when I’m around
you.
“Don’t tell me that. I’ve lived in hell for the past thousand years. I spent a thousand years wishing I’d never been born. She’s the only thing that’s made my life worth living and if that’s all I get, a few months with her- a few days, it’s more than I’ve ever hoped for. Do you really think God would forgive me for the blood on my hands, even if my soul was free? I’m going to hell no matter what happens. Let me have my pathetic hopeless love while I can. Just- let me pretend it will turn out alright.”
Lament
He is the poem inside me.
The poem that breathes
my love into life.
The setting sun,
the shining stars;
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A hand on my back,
A stroke of the neck,
A love affair between predator and prey.