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Cold hard intensity.
Woven into a heated threat.
There is little waiting for us on the other side.
Heart beats racing to the finish line.
Instinct newly hatched from a driven desire.
From which we are surprised. and indifferent.
Divinity among togetherness.
Counting on eachother for the thing we want most right now.
Make it count Making it count.
In an ice cold place which has wrapped us-I feel squared.
I still feel the blood rushing hot as we create shapes and patterns.
Suddenly I don't feel so square.
Finger nails under your skin, buried agony and sounds.
It's all good here.
Transparency in the place which is most unlikely, most possibly,
most passionately.
Cowardly we wait for one of us to take the throne.
We both require blood sacrifice. We both could wait for the perfect moment.
Neither of us can choose so it's going to hurt the best way
that none of us know how.
During the distressful part we love the most-
You lay on me and I begin to ponder on what is natural.
I can feel my head spinning, my stomach gets tighter.
I might possibly faint into a world I've never been to but dreamed about once.
It stings. I can feel the world under my toes. I can feel you under my fingertips.
I lay on you, and I know the most natural thing is my love for you.
We both drown out on each other. What's left for destruction we've
paradox into creation of something we both didn't know existed.
Saliva drips faster than blood.
Shut the door. Hint to me this will go down another way. Remember to lock it.
And let's start over again.
 Pain-Killer 4 Dead Angels · Wed Jun 03, 2009 @ 05:42am · 0 Comments |
