Loved. The door is open now, The light is flooding in, My hands are warm, My body is still, And now my soul stretches, Like a shadow in a sunset, And my mind now wanders, With thoughts of only you.

The Game Of A Serial Liar. You had a bad habit of lying, A sweet past time which possessed your voice, Infected my heart and shook my faith, I would be lying if I said you didn't have a talent. I had this recurring thought, I imagine you frowning with no lips, Your ruthlessness and deceit rotted them to death, Like maggots eating away at a hide, The lies tore away at the purest pinks, My favourite place to share a kiss, These places used to expose your sweetest words, They translated into beauty and love, Wrapping my hands around the word trust, There’s an absence of that word now. Confident expectation of something; hope, There is no hope, only hurt, disappointment, Not much love, Yet you crave my trust, and blame your poisonous lies, On my imagination and assumptions. I shouldn’t rely on a man with decaying lips, His kisses are bitter and taste like the unfaithful bile that spills, Evidence of bloody words, a trail of my disappointment, And my tears that you begrudge each time my heart dehydrates, No love. I don’t rely on you, not that it matters to you, It’s not important really, Just me and my hopes for love, comfort, I’ll let you return to your games, holding me like a hair to a matchstick, I hope you score fewer points this time.

The Prison Guard. I got locked up. Locked up tight.　 Brassy bars hold me confined, Keeping my frame together which is now fragile and stiff, That one prison guard who whistles his taunting tune, rattles the cages to scare me straight. He used to be handsome before he was bold and harsh, too harsh, too dominating, Barely smiled that sweet smile, a tainted sneer with a peak of fang, Nothing to do but wither and sit, deal with it Crying perhaps in a pitiless world, no sympathy or comfort You can deny, But never rely, You know it's fiction rather than fact, I make my choice. But he will not waver, his domineering glare, Nor his grimace of disgust as he raises his hand, The striking pain that turns my skin scarlet, Is warming in the wrongest of ways, The only touch I receive, the only comfort of skin on skin, It's sharp, I feel his rage, That one prison guard, who won't let me leave.

F**k You. Basically. You don't deserve my air You don't deserve my soul You don't deserve my lips You don't deserve my eyes You don't deserve my loyalty You don't deserve my friendship You don't deserve my kisses You don't deserve my faith You don't deserve my hand You don't deserve my kindness You don't deserve my heart You don't deserve my body You don't deserve my love.

Why Am I Here? Why am I here? We scream, we shout, We cry, we break, We lie, we hide, We're weak, we're heartless, We're bored and reckless, Stunned by our shared #life which was Snatched from our palms by something less kind. And then thrown down, Trampled Burned All by your rage. And your heartless malice. You're cold, you're wicked You're tiresome, you're shallow, You're thoughtless, you're greedy, You never cry, you never care, You're always so unaware, Of the dense, tense, sadness you put in my heart, Then pinch it and stir it. Its all a game to you isn't it? Why not push me further please? Higher and closer, right to the edge, You smile, you laugh You hold me and whisper 'I'm so sorry' But those words only apply until the next time, Perhaps you'll mean it then? Touch, hold, smell, smile, slap, You're so blind, and unkind, You say you always mean best You're deceitfully sweet, and innocent (so you appear) You're troublesome, you're empty. Sometimes I just wonder, That maybe, Just one day. You will tell me you're sorry. Maybe, you'll see the scars on my skin, And the wounds that burn deeper, And not just on the surface, Maybe you will tell me you're sorry, And maybe this time, you'll mean it.