|gothic art from @phatpuppy ©|
it always starts with a burn down your throat
a liquid longing going down reaching your heart
slowly you start to suffocate
yearning for the air of his breath
into your lungs
his fingers exploring your back
as you turn to search for his lips...
a kiss may be a lethal thing, you know
And then, the parody of the eternal innuendos
countless placked out daisies on the field of your heart
"he loves me...he loves me not..."
finally the "not" becomes a knot around your arteries
you are scared, but not yet...
a fire starts to caress your paper skin
and then the pain
and the taste of blood inside your mouth
when you bite your lips
wanting to rip off the spot where his fire touched you...
poor woman in love, in vain
for a moment only
for a fraction of cracked time
you had a passing shadow , a little more than the sway of a feather
the memory of passion took you for its eternal prisoner
you try to erase it
like the stain that remains after you have killed all the dreams behind you
it is useless to resist
the mark of Love
will burn your soul skin