The fire in these veins simmers white hot, months gone by has not erased the divine rush of adrenaline, the rage that runs wild. These blood red nails beg to hit that hardened face, so high above me. That bittersweet face, where these lips I hold would never leave those of that face. A severe contrast begs to destroy a heavy heart, unearthing a beautiful catastrophe. A tornado of love and hate, burning, burdened pain. To let go is to forget, to drop it and never pick it up. in a few months, a due of time, the heart bound for distruction will be safe once more from the contradictoray disaster, it so desperately screams the name, the yearning never ending, hoping for brilliance once more.
Division of the Heart
December 10, 2008