Verbatim

Love teaches how to kiss with patience How to speak in silence How to see through walls And how to burn them down too

Thank you for your honesty Honestly, I'm sorry That you think so little of the survival rate of our potential I'm not trying to project your mental I'm simply caught up in the sentimental When it seems you're more haunted by the sentiment of the possible coming regret The strongest weapon in your arsenal Fear of falling You'd rather trip us before the foghorn blows Who knows what this is or even what it could be But I'd let myself melt like puddy In your hand Time and time again If I thought it would make you understand That I am more than just your favorite in-betweens Who knows we could be the best fit all around You'd rather linger on your doubts so you won't even allow Those thoughts to become a wrinkled furrow in your brow Scared of the sound When we tend to disagree You keep me on the ground, and I just want to sweep you off your feet As fleeting as the love may seem Perhaps it's what has allowed us to not lose steam Or lose the integrity Of ou

I was a message in a bottle floating off to sea Crying "Help, I'm drowning in my sorrows and I can barely breathe" You were a shipwreck across the shore Trying to put your pieces back together With a habit of finding storms Amidst clear skies and sunny weather The ocean reminded you of a time that was better So you feared to leave her side In hopes one day you could still be with her Kick off from her harbors again once the storm within you died And you could fill your sails with the memories of her salty sea air Tumble back into her currents like waves of soft brown hair Tucked coyly behind a young maiden's ear I found your splintered planks and torn sails With a storm turned simply to gray skies Melancholy tales Written to tunes sung from sad eyes My bottle had been emptied That message now ravaged by salty tides Carrying nothing but a whisper of liquor To burn away the pain inside Still, I recognized your beauty from a distance A glimmer of that storm and a taste f

He keeps a knife in his voicebox and razors at his fingertips Emblazoned navigation through mental crevices Leaving your brain dripping wet And insatiable He doesn't mind ripping through rhetoric Of the mundanely pathetic An unforgiving orator of sorts Off rhyme and flows intricate The kind of ex you don't forget No matter how many upturned glasses you leave strewn across the table He's a sinner who could even make Satan blush Revealer of those truths others often fear to touch Sometimes it can be rough Gotta pull your hair back just to let him fuck your mind up 'Til you admit it... You just can't get enough Because his kind of diction is addictive Makes you feel dirty for wanting more It's true, filthy minds love alike.. Find us pining for our vices in the bookstore Jonesing between the pages Searching for another murder at the hands of Blad3s

She holds the moon to her crown With a tongue fluent in sunshine A woman of God with nurture in her every step Her hands are soft, but weathered From the work she so tirelessly gives No asking for help or praise She is a mother to all who needs her The first to break the mould of a world not yet ready for this kind of kindness Still she poured love into their unworthy hearts Her scars run deep, though, she kisses their knives with forgiveness No, she isn't perfect But she has moved with grace in a direction those before her had never dreamed to travel No map, no signs Just the dirt under her feet, and the stardust in her eyes The warmth of her Father's love in her heart Trading a life of comfort for a life of truth, passion, And understanding Even if it meant standing underneath her children to help them reach more closely to God Her shoulders are heavy with burdens which remain unseen But her Father is there beside her Telling her "You know the way home."

Sometimes I listen to your favorite sad songs and pretend it's heartbreak. Sometimes I look at old pictures of us and pretend it was love.

My spirit will linger A few days, I'm sure Late as usual.. Even for Jesus Christ himself Just so I know they lay me to rest Upon the laurels of my legacy, And not upon the crest of my potential A room full of people, Half of whom I either fucked or let fuck me over The other half only wish they did Crying about how they wish we'd been closer Preaching about how much I'll be missed Though they always seemed to just miss me when we actually had the time To kick it when I was alive Share these open casket conversations Just to find me already dead inside One step closer to becoming a famous writer, I suppose Give them something to go home about To lose themselves in their teenage prose Aftertaste of my metaphors still lingering in their mouths I couldn't say the end was either fire nor ice Death just sorta strolled into my house Put on my clothes Wore my favorite fragrance Death had me looking nice Lips sewn shut at the gums Still they'll hear my sonnets hummed Like ch