Friday, October 11

The Human Heart, its art- collection


Love is War

A battle,
Always raging,
Never ending.
A kiss
Never meant
Never felt…

Your lips turn,
eyes glinting
 in a scattering of blazing embers
as you try to hurt me.

You throw your blows,
Like my blood will pay for this.
It wont.

Brooding under the surface,
dark clouds of anger.
This is what we have become.
This is how we will crush each other.
In-between the screams,
And cries of pain.
We will die here,
On this battleground of faults.
We will circle round and round,
Until our feet turn to ashes
And there is nothing left to conquer.

Love is War….


So break.
Blood lashes against the walls.
don't you understand?
I lo-
Skull hits cement,
heat sears the skin.
I love you...

So break.
Don't you understand?
If you can't hate,
what love is there.
Watching as you struggle to your feet,
just to twist you back around.
I can reel you closer,
lay you bare.
your in love.
So kiss me,
while your still alive.
Kiss me,
before I put you back on the ground
amidst the falling ashes.
And Watch You Cry.

So break.
I don't care,
I'll still love yo-
-Memories rush in,
I'm blacking out.
Crack of skin against bone,
I lo..

I love...

So break.
Your fixation,
writes your own story.
while you clutch your bruising skin,
just for the fun,
of watching you scream.
can hurt you.
So smile  love,
while I rip away your skin.

So Break.
 The wind is leaving my lungs.
Your voice frames my mind in tangled weeds.
Blood pulsing from my face,
thorns buried deep in flesh.
The tears streaking-
-from my eyes.
I'm invisible
to you.
But still...
...Why do I....

I throw you,
you come back.
It's like a game
wretchedly divine.
Your mine
No matter what I do
the best part?
I just don't care about you.

 So break.
I can't think.
So break.
I can't...
I can't do this anymore.
The man I love-
isn't really you.
So bre-

Bound to you

May hurricanes tear you down,
from your calloused throne of blood soaked thorns.
May rain pour from the sky,
and sweep away the wretched pain
lingering in the air
around the pallid corpse you've left of me.

You strut around,
like you own my soul.
But when I turn to you,
your colder than a forge of Ice.

I pray that the moon will cover the sun,
that the seasons passing will wrap me in a net of cold silver.
That in the darkness,
following the eclipse,
I can cut away this binding,
tying me to you.


Time is a wanton foe,

It leeches out the hours of the show.

Though our souls long to slow,

It will never stop turning.

The pendulum,

The show.

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