the heart it grips can only breathe when you're hand is pressed against its place

And the wind changes courses because the soft look you gave sounded sweet in its ears.

 With all the blades of grass in a spring garden I love you.

And the flute plucks out the scent of lilac and pomegranite and things that don't happen do

And its love

And it exists on the breeze

of a silent autumn morning where the soft soft sounds of the silken sheets are pulled back to reveal

the bittersweet sin of tomorrow.

laying down upon a carefully concealed truth and what it brings is a lie

straying from the white rock path of a vow made to last another day to

the sharp sticks inside the monster's mouth.

its reaking breath and gray eyes covered by the scent of a thousand candles.

Poor Little Rich Boy

couldn't tell the same from the different

And the love from the hate

POOR LITTLE RICH BOY

never loved another and poor little rich boy could never run from cover from covered the run with wilted roses and empty bottles of dusty thoughts

But he swore he loved her but he didn't and wished he loved her more

He wished to be loved but to recieve it

And the monster practiced its tap dance on the graves of those it filled with false love  and the promise of a good time

Slaughtered by the sound hs own pattering heart beat the poor little rich boy led way to the yellow papered notes and ink stains brought by long nights and the exausted lips of dreams

And he loved but never loved to love.