People always say that love is bright
but it burned right through my hazel eyes
What kind of love is heavenly
when all I’ve sensed is the devil daring me
That clear blue ocean they reference religiously
has been overrun with predators who follow relentlessly
and the glass of summer wine will escalate
to empty bottles littering the landscape
Oh, and how beautiful to compare a red rose to your love
until I came to realize it is the same colour as fresh blood
and I wouldn’t count on that glow in your smile to stay
The black shadows beneath your eyes are not easy to escape
So tell me again, how your love is like a tree in full bloom
home to thousands of butterflies reflecting off the moon
Then come to me again, right before their extinction
and tell me how you miss those monarch’s distinction
Go on about the beauty in the movement of their wings
and how it gave a sense of promise compared to your past stings
Then I will remind you again how easy it is to believe
that butterflies dominate the population of bees
His smiles so bright, a comfort I cannot describe
Like the fumes from gasoline, rearing me into a high
But ultimately, I know, he’ll do nothing but harm
And I’ll float down from cloud 9 right into his shadowy arms
His eyes so relaxing, a calmness like the sea
But the deeper I look into them, the harder it is to breathe
And as the waves push me further from the land I desire
I am slowly dragged downwards into his underwater empire
His hands filled with warmth, a touch that sends shockwaves through my veins
But you can never have lightning, without the undeniable rain
And as I look around for shelter, I’m surrounded by trees
The biggest bait to nature’s electric masterpiece
Once the storm has calmed, and I lye drenched and afraid
From nowhere, there he is, carrying an umbrella with my name
I smile because he came, even though it was too late
And I fall back into the cycle, because somehow, it is worth the rain.
He burns, under my skin.
all three fucking layers;
physically, mentally and spiritually.
You want to play the guilt game? Well I can play it too.
You can’t keep wrapping silk around the wounds you caused.
You can’t cover up your harsh words with letters of love.
You can’t throw a pity party as your optimistic thoughts dance to their deaths.
You can’t sharpen your nails like spears then try to caress me.
And you can’t fix the paranoid love you ripped to shreds with your own insecurities.
And yea, I will happily keep reading Bukowski with a glass of red in my hand.