YourTypeofPoison

 The lavish kettle pours no tea While sultry tomes share no words I lay on the floor where no feet fall; And look to the empty world He sings to me empty melodies While I sigh empty breath Eloquent nothings fill airy whispers; They make me yawn again. So tell me tales of desolate adventures Musical lives where there is no song Because when I look into your eyes I see the world there, not you— You’re gone.

     I can't tell if it is day or night Permanent state of unrest Makes the minutes that pass Feel like separate lifetimes     The moon and sun duel In the gradient sky For dominance For the final say     This reality was only built To house one or the other The silver toll of moonlight Or the hardy song of the sun     In my world they sing a rampant                 Harmony A song of bloody battle One that shouts from the rooftops Coexistence of dawn and dusk is a futile effort A duel that can never be won     And so the light of the moon and the sun Saturate my life A continual reminder that this Reality isn't my own     The sun

     the man i am in my dreams                          is a great man. one who soars on the breath of his own dreams  not one who falls under the barrage              of others thoughts.     the man i am in my dreams accepts all of society's standards              but pays them no heed.     while           aspirations of perfection and acceptance keep the weight of the world on                    my shoulders it isn't worry or fear that keeps     him from knowing his worth;          while i humbly hide my value away, away from eyes that no doubt will judge.     the man i am in my dreams               is indeed, a great man.

He called me a statue. A work of art, but as cold as marble. No passion, no affection. Lifeless. Just stone curves, icy to the touch. The whisper of his fingers over soft skin couldn't warm me. No sweet embrace could crack my resin finish. I am stone. With one withering look, I could crush you. Then why, beneath the ice, the cold marble, Do I find myself wasting away? Torpor is my refuge Where I am not bitter, where I am not drawn and tired, and cursed with this too, too-solid flesh. Let me retreat into my ever looming nights, And wander with the harlequin stars of sleep.