I don’t make promises. I may be haunting you one day. All of you.
Korpiklaani. If you don’t know you should. I’m pretty sure this is a love song.
Clams Casino. I’m God. Witch House.
Through thistle, a path I cleared,
So you may see what waits;
That all my love is yours,
Should your desires meet with mine.
Though treacherous you know I am,
I still want my sweetness known.
Though my hearts passion runs black,
I still want my vulnerability cradled.
What you see, you will crush.
Our hearts never to be tethered;
Hearts can’t want what’s not wanted.
But at least you did look.
I said, “Words slip, like water, and sand.”
You said, “He choked on too much pudding.”
I said, “Tribal beats; pure sex is song.”
You said, “Lips like honey, with empty words.”
I said, “Voice like air, carry my thoughts.”
You said, “Cold thought annihilation; only machine lives.”
I said, “Let me warm you with embraces.”
You said, “As empty as God, and alive.”
I said, “Fill void with life, I will.”
You said, “Please make sure that you do.”
I said, “My only fear; will It listen?”
You said, “If you listen, It will listen.”
I said, “Why the emptiness then?”
You said, “You are part of a whole.”
I said, “Who will give then too me?”
You said, “Separate shards give a final whole.”
I said, “Those shards, time is now eroding.”
“I am as lost as they.”
“Always I walk, moonrise calls.”
You said, “I will speak to you soon.”
I said, “Soon, for I cherish our time.”
(*Written by You, not me.)
Don’t tell me that I deserve better if you won’t be the better that I am getting.
I think that you have deserved better as well.
I can’t hold out for hope, unless I can hope for you; hope to have you, hope to possess you in my heart, for I am greedy, and I am thirsty, and I am poor in love right now, and any love given I want only for myself.
My desire for you is frantic, confused, and angry, and white hot, so you know that I could cauterize any wounds you carry, making them painfully clean.
Neither of us knows how to love without suffering for that love, and we both know that that is the wrong way to love, but when sadness and anger are your constant companions, it is difficult to learn to live without them.
It is difficult to pull the thistle, and ragweed, and briars from around your heart, when the invasive weeds of suffering, and sadness are the only garden you’ve learned to tend.
Let us tether our hearts, and make a garden of lovely flowers for every season.
Let us put the night to rest, and let the sun rise, and glow on our lives.
Come to me, and let me love you, for yours is the love that I need, that I want, that I hunger for, and like me, I know that you must be starving.
Come then, and let us devour that which is never finite.
Let me be your better.
It was his presence that drew from me a kind of respect that connected to my heart, and grew into a kind of love that was satisfied with not having love returned, for as a tall tree on a warm day in June, I was satisfied to be in the coolness of his shade.
Then one day my passion reached a zenith, and as the noonday sun can be so hot, to be in his shade no longer satisfied me.
It is one thing to love, and another to fall in love, and I fell.
What I feel is not really love though, in as much as it is a wish for love.
It is a wish that he could be what I imagine him to be, and that is not love.
My love for him is all daydreams made of knives that slice through the fabric of my fantasies, causing reality to bleed through, staining my wishes with the truth.