Hands in my hair

pushing our limits

Don't cry, little girl. by laura-makabresku via DeviantArt.com Don’t cry, little girl. by laura-makabresku via DeviantArt.com

I stand, staring at you.
Punishing you with my eyes.

But I cannot look directly at you, not for long.

My fingers betray me, reaching out to you. To rake softly through that lovely beard. To skim tenderly over those sweet lips. To magnetize you, so desperate to wake the beast within.

So he might fight with me.
So he might frighten me.
So he might fuck me.

You stand motionless. Frozen. Like a dream.

My mind and heart, they’re arguing. Fighting the facts, and memorizing the ache that bears your name. That hurt fuels my magic and beckons me to look up. Look again. Look at you.

I swim in the crystal depth of those pale, sad eyes.

My mind quiets,
My heart stops,
My body lightens…
And I feel

Your hands in my hair.
Where they are meant to be.

Your breath on my skin.
Where it is meant…

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Splendid, Re-blogged this.


This is where she could drip blood
if it could drip
outside of the body,

but she is internal.

Penetration can happen if lead solders
make contact.

On a bluish/gray scale,

she was never meant to be loved,
or touched,
or shot out of a pistol

well below the speed of sound.

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Lyrical Anarchy



It’s mechanical
The response sometimes
Yes I love
Yes I need this drink
Yes I need to talk
No I am fine
No there’s nothing wrong
Does it compute?
Slow down thoughts
Try to catch up and rest
Sleep consists of dreams
Of being awake
Which is exactly like not sleeping
Putting everything on automatic
No one else is driving

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