Although they strayed, their words departed,

I had become an addict anyways.

Because once you’re made aware

of how delicious it is to give away your heart,

It was if our tongues were made of velvet,

as the words softly spilt away.

Gently conforming to reflective silhouette,

as though a script precluded such conversation.

Perhaps, if I believe for just the briefest of breaths,

that I walk with both an over and ever flowing

capacity to do, to be good,

tomorrow will be worthy to step towards.

I am screaming without sound.

Pulsing without rhythm.

Crying without tears.

Breathing without enlargement.

It took but one sunrise

and my heart welded to yours,

but it has taken thousands more,

to heat the stubborn bond,

Under dampening darkness, I was stained,

and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it out.

Charred too long, now bitter to taste,

a degree past what is burnt.

They who yield the sword is feared,

but he who holds attention captives the world.

“Give no war!” the thronging cries,

for they have enough within themselves.

I have frosted, I have melted.

I have destroyed, I have healed.

I have loved, I have hated.

I am now, I have been.

Was not when you touched or moaned so soft,

but when you stood on the decrepit lakeshore,

felling to the fireflies,

“I love him! I love him! I love him!”

I am a drop in the ocean

who is endlessly tormented by the dream

that I once traveled the skies in boisterous clouds

until a great tumult crashed me downward

Shivering knees oblivious to icy winds,

clatter not from without, but the coldness within.

Like morning dew frozen on bending leaves

springtime is taken by adulterated thieves.

We are dabblers in deliberation.

Tokens and trinkets frothy with rituals,

wishing on stars, mapping their trails.

Decisions unmade with our consistencies,

There is a book I long to read,

but am unable to find.

I do not know its name.

I do not know the writer,