Hungry eyes feed off my own,
and dive deep into my soul,
as we bounce ideas off one another,
testing the water before jumping in.

It’s a strong sensation that irks me,
through whether it’s cold or hot,
my mind can not distinguish.

My stomach ignites with butterflies,
flying out of the net that is my heart,
lifting me above rationality and truth,
which matter not when emotions breed.

We’re at a perfect time,
where we’re exposed,
ever so slightly,
and none of our flaws,
have become too much,
for the other to handle.

Who does the bell of these words toll for,
and will the sound reach the right ears?

Life is a series of calculated,
or not so calculated,
risks.

This is a risk I’m willing to take;
I roll my dice on your table,
and wait for the outcome.

Can a dreamer dream of satisfaction,
if they have never been satisfied?

The clock ticks beyond her,
and far from her reach,
it’s too late for time,
that’s gone now.

Forever is never forever enough,
for the ashes of dreams to die,
and stop their smoldering ways,
or the ashes of friendships,
long cool to the touch,
but never to the heart.

The heart will come along once again,
to heal the wounds deemed too deep,
and to rebuild your broken world,
with all your favourite toys,
and puppets to play with.

and the wooden soldier marches,
without sparing a glance,
to the left or the right,
confident in his direction,
and ability to feel heat,
despite the smell of fire.

As the fire licks the wood,
will you come back and save me,
or will you enjoy the warmth,
of all our passion gone wrong?

The flame licks my tender skull,
as the sound of footsteps rage,
and the hero is forgotten,
as smoke fills your eyes;
a tear for me I wonder?
Or nothing at all.

The
flame
licks
my
soul,
on
solitary
nights
filled
with
self
defeat,
and
too
many
chances
gone
astray,
as
your
flame
licks
my
soul.

You can’t just lay there and accept life,
like those who fail to experience good sex.

The bird of fire in my soul ignites,
and launches a firestorm on the apathy,
of friends who’ve let go of their lives,
far too early to experience the pleasures.

You can’t concede your life to boredom and misery,
waiting for passion and meaning to happen to you,
because it won’t come for you now,
or ever again unless you take control,
and raise your pathetic existence up,
out of the dull ashes it simmers in,
and pull it into the sunlight once again.

I won’t let you surrender your soul,
or you will become a shell human,
gutted of emotion and enjoyment,
limping alone, broken and cold;
your fire will burn again,
or else I’ve failed you, my friend.

We can no longer afford to fail one another,
as more cold bodies pile on more cold bodies,
and a chill creeps into the bones of the living,
and the sewers fill with dead spirits who’ve turned,
into monsters that wade through the shit-filled waters,
as ravenous alligators in the swamp, filled with hatred,
ready to destroy the hopes and dreams of the passionate ones,
who embrace as lovers should, and don’t dwell on frozen memories,
because they are too busy creating a fire inside of their lover’s eyes.