Opposites of a sort, violence against purity, the contrast between evil and good.
The warm blood mixes with the cold snow, fading the line of right and wrong.
Confusing the knowingness born of the soul, creating messengers of doubt and confusion.
The red droplets stain the spirit of...
Just as the black shroud of depression shall come again and cover my true self.
Both will bring diminished light and a sense of isolated hibernation.
Beneath the snow, the vegetation slumbers in preparation for opening day.
Awaiting the warmth of the sun to greet her growth...
Passions breath on the back of my neck, stealing the air from my heart
I long for my beloved, the one who never came
The what if's, should have been's and possibly could be's
My heart aches for the stolen glances across the room
The light brush of a warm hand over my skin
Balancing on the verge of something more
Teetering, dangerously on the edge of the unknown
Trudging through the fog that is her own mind
Searching for the soul that will make it all clear
Her body does not feel like her own
She longs for the days she could make it disappear
That sweet sensation of pure nothin...
Kept your secret and claimed it as she grew.
Held it deep within her until it was her own.
Covered it over with flesh and blood and bone.
Face upon face she revealed to the crowd,
Never the voice that was screaming out loud.
Choking and aching and dying inside.
"All is well...