The metalic taste of blood,
drips off my very tongue.
Your flesh so bittersweet,
tastes like honey-coated meat.
...
I know I turned
my back on you,
that I don't deny.
But then you gave up all hope,
...
Many times I feared,
that it was you that I had lost.
And then I soon find out,
I was too engrossed.
...
Have you heard of isolation?
Being with yourself...
Isn't none too fancy,
even for your health.
...
Reading is an art,
reading is a tool.
Those who think it dumb,
must be such a fool.
...
A sheet of paper fresh and new,
Reflects the sky ever blue.
Ink that seeps and runs through its veins,
Inflicts on a reader mental pain.
...
Those words strike a cord,
a cord so true.
A cord so familiar,
it sounds so much like you.
...
Glittering in the moonlight,
like morning dew in the sun.
Like live crystals,
living through the ages.
...
Hearing your voice,
my mind blanks,
I hear your soul,
calling, calling,
...
Art is a blast,
free from the worries of the past.
Splashes of colour, dashes of white,
making the night feel so light and so bright.
...