No FIlter

A promising question.

Promiscuous Answers.

Aware that there’s life after me, but

Next life time, will I see you again?

Actions of selfishness,

Defy the suppression of nostalgic thoughts.

The hurt of remembering leaves emotional scars.

Two sleeves baring tattooed broken hearts.

This wardrobe neglected and dejected.

Hand-me-downs – Hand me down faded smiles.

Happiness hasn’t felt the same

Not even Sadness itself has felt this shame.

Conversations turn into confessions,

History’s left unwritten – the mysteries…

What is (y)OUR story?

I’ve revised mine.

This Fantasy has turned Non-Fiction.

Once believed in fairy tales until discovering,

Witches can be men too.

As minds wonder –

On those long walks are you searching for me?

Inside feeling empty, but how long will this last?

Hungry since birth, never tasting satisfaction.

How does one go about embracing the present

If they cannot fully comprehend their past?

Promising Questions.

Broken Answers.

Has Cupid cast a spell on us forever?

Cursed with loving you, never?

Instead I curse until I start feeling a little better.

Use to weather any story together,

Star gazing as the sky is falling,

Today feels more like Christmas in the Summer.

-Leighrick ♥

Dragon Days

My heart loves you more than my mind is allowing myself. The deeper I fall, the less fear.
My heart beats to a different rhythm; too excited it skips it’s beats. Overwhelmed with emotions, I hiccup on my thoughts. I am Hungry. Yearning to devour your heart, you so sweetly catered to me in the palms of your hand. A closed mouth won’t get fed. Sealed lips hold my words captive, bruised ribs protect my own heart, it’s tender. My full mind aches unspeakable curiosity.

King, defeat the dragon!

I feel – as though my hearts burning in the fury of my own fire. The desire, your optical liquidation quenches my thirst. My own tears drown me within the approaching tomorrow; I am impatient. Will your way into the ability to read my mind, when the cat has my tongue. Allow me to lounge in your clothes, and walk in my shoes –  dig your heel into the sole, and my reacquaint me with my own. This sleep deprivation has me writing too revealing. Can it be possible that my words need rest?