The nights were dark and torturous,
You cried in every grind and ******,
As I held guard and closed my doors,
but in the morning, I was yours.

You'd pull me closer, without shame,
I'd bury, drink and drive away,
and swear I'll hurt you even more
but in the morning, I was yours.

And still, I hear your sirens call,
your arms open to catch my fall,
with my whispers of "are you sure?"
But by the morning, I am yours.

So with your lands so far from mine,
I take solace and play with time
dreamt only in your company,
In that morning, I will be free.

a soundless space with stress free air,
an end of day without a care,
a guitar sitting proud and spent,
a long last sigh thats truly meant.

a calming stride towards, and soon
a comfort found in your cocoon,
a turned off light, a dark curtain
a passive state to let dreams in

a craved silence, a private place
a content smile upon your face
a warmth, a glow, a closing breath
as finally, your body rests.

a place to shut out all the woe,
a place where only you can go,
a place thats solely yours to keep
a place where you can fall asleep.

When I used to read ****** romance novels or online fiction (we all do it when we're lonely, don't lie) Before I was in a stable relationship myself, I'd noticed that when love is described it usually unfolds the same way.
it's a warm ball of light in your chest. it starts out small, unravels, and becomes so big and filling that it radiates through you. hotter than the sun. or at least, that's what they say.
It always irked me to read, because surely love is indescribable?
you can't spin the roller coaster of love into a straight forward strain of thought, enough to actually explain love fully in all it's capacity and magnificent energy.

No little ***** of light could match the intensity of naked love.

This here, is the problem I am having. you can't write it down. all of those beautiful things written by others before? they don't compare. no song, poem, verse or bible passage can compete with how I feel for you. and at the time these cliched descriptions were enough to sate the hopeless romantic inside me but now, now that I am aware of love I can't abide the misrepresentation it gets.
Nothing compares to you (Ok, maybe Sinead O Connor had the right idea...) and because nothing compares to you, I can't write. I have no songs to sing and nothing to write because I'm happy. I'm more than happy... I'm beside myself.
I can't capture you, my feelings for you, or the magic of our connection in any art form. supposedly it's because it is it's own art form. our love is art, priceless and constantly changing.
It bothers me because I want to tell the world. I want to show them. I want to run up to all the lonely people, who felt like I felt and go "IT EXISTS! YOU WILL FIND IT! HOLD ON! DON'T LOSE HOPE!" because they need to know... they need to understand.
but if love can't be expressed correctly, they will never understand.

So to the lonely people ;

Love is incomprehensible.
It is life saving.
It is frustratingly beautiful and unbelievable. it is every cliche you've ever heard of and much, much more. it is definitely not over rated. don't ever stop looking, don't ever give up hope. it's there and one day, you'll feel it too.

I miss you.
I miss you in my house. I miss the interaction you had with my parents and I miss how much you love them. I miss you wearing my clothes and the smell of you lingering on them for days, I'd bury my head in the neck of my jackets and hug myself, just to breathe you in.
I miss your wicked sense of humour and your appauling timing. I miss the complete hatred but utter respect for my friends. I admired you so much for looking past the obvious reasons to be hostile towards them and seeing them for who they really were; People who cared about me. and to you that was enough. No one has ever shown that much foresight as far as I am concerned.
I miss the way your head would twitch to the side in concern. I miss how much I meant to you. I miss holding you when you cried. I miss the look you gave me when you were either serious or aroused. the look of almost fear at your own vulnerability and screamed "Im holding on for dear life, do you know that?". I miss being the one to know that.
I miss how you'd smile when you saw me. I miss how you'd hold me, with such enthusiasm and didn't give a **** what people thought of you because of it. I miss how shamelessly you'd grin flirtatiously at me so I'd end up buying you something, which sounds horrible, but I adored you for it.
I miss being able to read you. I miss singing to you. I miss the way bile would rise up in my throat whenever I worried about you. although that still happens.
I miss the places we would go. I miss our place. I miss the way you made me feel. I miss feeling love. I miss feeling like I would do absolutely anything in my power for you, and what I couldn't do, I'd **** well try to do anyway.
I miss knowing I'd slay dragons for you. I miss constantly trying to save you. I miss your clever literature and your witty take on the world inside your head. I miss your creative, yet somewhat disturbing figments of your imagination. I miss falling asleep whilst texting you at 5.30 in the morning.
I miss writing songs about you.
I miss waking up before you and watching you sleep, the way you'd sometimes cling to me and I'd marvel at how lucky I was.
I miss you wanting me.
I miss you needing me.
I miss being important to you.
I miss you finding me funny. I miss your whispers. I miss your ears, your fingers, your eyes, your hair, your hips, your navel and your neck.
I miss making toast for you.
I miss putting up with your horrible, horrible friends, purely because I wanted you to be happy.
I miss trying to make you happy.
I miss throwing my life away for you.
I miss every single moment, emotion and time involved with you.
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
and I'm always going to, aren't I?

Recently I've grown to see
the weakness in my mind.
I'm challenged by the ordinary
resentment I always find.
For I have the great power
to forgive and be forgiven,
but I am lacking in drive and manner,
of which this action can be taken.
I will call myself a blamer
upon myself and many others
my hopeless romantic is a failure
but the lack of hope is from my lovers
they caress control and swindle
and leave me broken poor and ******
it leaves the torn up hard to mingle
and the forgotten hard to miss.
So I'll take stock in my conquests,
despite how little they may be,
I will be reborn a celibate
and set my libido free.
Nothing good belongs in deviance,
sinful, ****** or more,
I will retain what is left of my innocence
and forget all from before.

Alcohol, disappointments and tainted heart to hearts,
everyone is there most beautiful, when dying in your arms,
They show you everything in them that you never got to know,
the scars, the charms the love that burns and desecrates their soul.

I never saw you pass by, or noticed you were there,
You've jumped up in my memories but I never seemed to care,
You know everyone around me and have touched there lives somehow,
you've blessed them with your beauty, which never shone on me 'til now.

Sadly though it seems to shine much brighter than it should,
my eyes grow tired and tearful and I'd remove them if I could,
they see things in you they shouldn't and they burn shut when I stare,
who knew that in my distracted state that you'd be standing there?

And now I lie down wondering, if it has really come to this?
I knew that it ignited ever since our first meaningless kiss,
But it grew beneath and showed itself when you **** near broke my heart:
Because you are at your most beautiful, when you're crying in my arms.

realities are shifting
in and out like sliding doors,
nothing left but the drifting
of my mind through open pores.

I'm sweating love and pain
leaving so quick like it's ashamed
to be a shimmer on my skin.
let the withdrawals begin.