What is love? But a vulnerable sensation Twisting your stomach into a thousand knots That strangle the flock of birds, not delicate butterflies, That seem to be permanently residing within me If you are near. What is lust? But a thousand cuts Piercing a body That both aches for the antiseptic but dreads the stinging burn that awaits. Love and lust, deemed as opposites by society, Aren't as antagonistic in my Heart. Love isn't as pure, Nor innocent. It doesn't make us Invincible Nor Better. Lust is Harmful rather than Thirsty; Toxic Rather than passionate. Negative connotations are all there are To these feelings that otherwise sound like bliss. Because when your head and heart are a mess It sends your soul into distress.
Fall is a season... A feeling of warmth as you pull your sweater over your shoulders Leaves of crimson scattered on the streets that crunch as you walk Laying on your cuddly sofa cradling a book A steaming cup of tea in hand that ends up burning your tongue off Universal time of of tumblr "postureo" The warm-up lap capitalism does to prepare for Christmas holidays Unforgivingly pesky chapped lips Mindlessly carrying your jacket all day since you're sweating midday but freezing in the am National cuffing season Yeah, because what started off as a description of a movie scene isn't actual reality.
Writing is therapeutic Like long strolls along the ocean Or a warm cup of tea between your hands Deep talks with a friend about life Scribbling a thousand characters effortlessly Leaving the imprint of your feelings on the page, The raw essence of your soul. Writing unveils All the emotions that you couldn't articulate into words at the time that you wanted Those which have stuck with you for enough time that you finally jot them down in hopes that they leave your system. Other times, you write them down to inmortalize tthem, to remember them and showcase them like the grandest exhibit in the globe.
Comments
Post a Comment