Be not afraid to cry,
I'll be here, right by your side
awake as usual, revolving through the hours
always swaying with the ashes that this fire devours

a heart
playing with blue ink to be
the end of a start...

tis more than lust can last;
hurts more to erase, than to go past.

I say, I'm always willing to taste
delirium:
the way I see the things that have no continuum, for some.

For others the cute existance of conjunctions and particles fused and conformed
into conversations

taking place on the bed of a mad gorgeous little thing that makes you feel a warmth inside
when She stares at you
her glow's reflected
on yours.

...

...not fun how at an end you came to hate all the things you once fell for and held so precious...

She says its only her fault:
"though I didn't expect it'd make me learn to let go".


(Her glow's reflected on you
when She stares.

Nevermore will She taste,
you.

...tis more than lust...

...tis more than lust...

tis more;

but She already learned to let go...)