Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Sexual Remembrance


How did it feel?
Did it feel real 
When you stood with her
And held her hands?

What did she say?
As the two of you lay?
On her white bed
Did it feel planned?

What did you think?
Did she fall for your winks?
Was her hair silky?
Was her skin lush?

When you kissed her deep
Did her heart leap?
Like it happened to me?
Did her cheeks flush?

Was your voice that sexy rasp?
When you popped her bra clasp?
And nibbled at the melons
That she bore?

Hickeys did you leave?
What did others percieve?
When they saw her clothes
Scattered in the corridor

And did you look down
With your cute half frown?
As she obediently went
On her knees

Was it fire and flame?
Did it feel the same?
Did her mouth work magic?
Did she tease?

Was it a purr
When you spanked her
That you heard coming
From her throat

I bet she felt lost
When you were her boss
I bet she struggled
To stay afloat

Was it pure lust?
When you did thrust
Into her, how loud
Did she moan?

Was her orgasm strong
Did it last long?
Did your conscience stir
When she groaned?

When you tied her to the bed
Were her lips red?
As mine, when you did
The same to me?

Did she beg for mercy
Amongst your cursing
Tell me, how obedient
Really was she?

Did she say your name?
Like me, while she came?
Was she convinced that
You would stick around?

How was her reception?
To your masterly deception?
She did she go on fours
On the ground?

And when the sun shone
Did she find herself alone?
And your side of the bed
Empty and cold?

After such a fuck
Did you just chuck
Her to a corner 
Of your memory hold?

You loved my wit
But in truth it was my tits
So tell me now
How did it feel?

After you fucked her
Did you remember
That you did the
Same to me?








Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Midnight Sex


Her panties lie innocently on the floor
Right next to where his vest is a pool
A ray of light through the half open door
A bedside carpet made of wool
His belt hangs sadly, silver buckle gleaming
From where she took it off and threw
It dangles from a chair; clinking, redeeming
As a portrait of a man watches them in rue
Her red high heels, pointy wicked heels
Grin from where they lie near the bed
Moonlight bathes the bed in slivers and peels
Shining on her raven-locked head
His shirt lies rumpled, sad and forgotten
Thrown on to a floor cushion sitting by
For this was their night of hope begotten
The room resonates with his ecstatic sigh
Her bra holds on to dear life
As it swings on a polished bed post
Lacey and feminine, it seems to connive
White and frilly; a disembodied ghost
His trousers on a settee in the corner of the room
Wonder how they got to be there
The soft aroma of her lingering perfume
Diffuses through the calm night air
Smiling up at the ceiling, his shoes
Are glad to be rid of his feet
The carpet on the floor merely looks amused
As the bed shakes in passion and heat
The night is warm, the room is burning
An inferno as it duly ignites
The once neat sheets are jumbled and churning
Through the scorching midsummer night
Clothes and possessions scattered all around
Watch silently as the fire catches on
Consuming heat and love, the sound
From the bed on which they lie upon
The night is young, and so are they
The scattered clothes will serve as proof
As the passion flares til the break of day
The shoes and the panties watch aloof















Wednesday, March 03, 2010

Spectrum: Converse of Colour & Conversation



He, a grown young man of twenty, looked intently at her.  She, the girl of seventeen stood on the front porch of her house. Not quite a woman, but more than a girl.  She was dressed simply in black low rise shorts, a body hugging blue motif t-shirt and on her feet were a pair of bright red Converse All Stars.  When he saw her shoes, he smiled and looked down at his own his shoes. On his feet was a pair of black Converse. He raised his head and looked back at her. Her gorgeous long black hair fell in waves over her shoulders and under the yellow light of the porch lamp, she had a mystical radiance. His traveled up and down along her long legs, her perfectly curvy hips and paused at her neck; where a white-gold necklace glittered, nestled comfortably on the hollow of her throat. He held his hand out to her and she gracefully accepted his large warm hand in hers. 
They walked along the moonlit road, the leaves of trees rustling softly in the warm gusts of winds while fallen leaves blew across the ground as if dancing. Together they walked, hand in hand, their converse clad feet moving at the same pace. Her soft blue t-shirt clung to her body in perfect curves and the laughing wind playfully tugged at the soft strands of her long, black hair. It glistened under the bluish light on the moon. Occasionally, they nudged each other as they walked and he was warm against her. All was silence because mere words would not satisfy what they were feeling. Their interlaced fingers symbolised more than just a connection. The leaf strewn road stretched far and they walked slowly. He was at ease. The tensions that ran high earlier during the day seemed so far and so long ago now. He stole a glance at her. It was always like this ever since they met. He always put her at ease. He remembered their first meeting.
She was seated along with several other hopefuls to try out for the upcoming school drama production of the year. She loved to be on stage because she loved the rush of it all and the pure pleasure of getting a role to become your second nature. She was seated, nervous, sweaty palms and furrowed brow. He walked in, his bag slung casually over his broad left shoulder with the unmistakable air of a popular school student. He had his English book report in his hand and he groaned when he saw the line of people seated for auditions. This would be mean he would have to wait till all the auditions were over to hand in his book report to the teacher. Employing some of the choicest of swear words mentally, he sat down next to her, clearly frustrated and annoyed.
After a while, he began to get restless and bored. He tried re-reading his book  report, but that reminded him he did a bad job anyway so he started to observe the girl sitting next to him. Her head was dipped down and she was reading something. She was dressed in black skinny jeans and a loose fitting white tank top. He could see her yellow bra straps clinging on to her shoulders and he was dearly longing to snap them, as he would have done to other girls. But something stopped him. She adjusted her poistion and crossed her legs and she saw that on her feet were a pair of dark blue Converse.  He looked down at his feet to see his own pair of dark blue Converse and a voice in his head admitted that it was a strange situation. They were wearing the same shoes. She had long black hair that sprang from her head in perfect waves. The hair was falling over the left side of her face like a long black curtain and she had tucked the hair on the right side of her face behind her ear. 
When he saw her face, he saw that she wasn't striking as some girls he knew. She wasn't what he would call hot.  After a while though, he could see that some of her features when taken separately, were quite perfect. She had high cheekbones and tanned, glowing skin. Her dark, sooty lashes were long and she had a subtle hint of a dimple. He then noticed that she was restless and made up his mind to ask her what was wrong. 
"Hey are you okay?" he asked her.
She turned to look at him, her eyes full of surprise. "Hey.. umm.. yeah.. Just kind of nervous" she replied with a small smile.
"But why? I mean if you're confident and if you know you want to do this.." his voice trailed off.
"I know I want to do this.. but I don't know. I really badly want to get in" she said worriedly.
"Okay.. Tell me why. Tell me why you like drama" he inquired.
She smiled and suddenly she seemed to relax. "Oh I love being on stage! It's like.. a canvas. And it's up to the actor to splash paint and turn it into a work of art. His or her masterpiece. I love you connect with a role and then you become the role in your acting. On stage you tend to think of what is going through your role's mind in the situation, how would your role react. And the rush of it all! It's so magical! The stage is a page to let go of all your inhibitions and fly. It's literally like flying. You let lose of all your insecurities and thoughts as to what others might be think and you completely let go and you lose yourself in your character. And more than that, I am so happy when I am on stage, I feel like I can do anything. I don't feel scared" she said. "I should stop talking now" she added and he smiled.
"You just stated that you don't feel scared. So why be nervous? It's like you said isn't it? Be your role. I'm sure you'll get in.." he replied. 
"I hope-" she began to say, but her sentence was cut off in mid sentence when a voice called her name.
"Oh I have to go!" she said, standing up and dropping all her books to the floor. "Oh no!" she cried. 
"I'll help" he said, picking up her books for her. They both stood up together and when he handed her the books, he looked in her eyes and he had a funny notion. He gulped. 
"Thank you so much" she said, walking away.
I hope I see you around he thought, watching her walk away from him.
He was brought back to earth when she squeezed his hand and they both sat down on a familiar driveway of a well known road. She rested her head against him, on his strong shoulder. Her red Converse laces were tangled with his black ones. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her sweet smelling head, burying his face in her apple scented tresses. Her dark brown eyes found his deep hazel ones and they held the gaze, their laces tangled up and they hearts and lives tangled up around each other.  His large warm hand found the line of her jaw and he stroked it, admiring her simple beauty. His hand traveled down to her delicate neck and there he felt her heart beat thrumming against his finger. Suddenly his head was filled with a memorable song. 
You're my survival, you're my living proof that my love is alive, not dead.
Just she leaned in to meet his lips with hers, the first drops of seasonal rain hit them and the kiss was forgotten for the moment. They both loved the rain. He stood up, dragging her up with him and they walked to the middle of the lonely leaf strewn street. As they held hands facing each other and looked up to the sky, the heavens broke and the rain came down, pelting gently down their faces. He held her to him and his arms locked around her waist. He kissed her gently and then slightly more urgently and she was honey and strawberries as she melted against him, into her, the spark that ignited turning into fire and seeping through them like glorious, hot molten lava. She tasted of honey and strawberry and it was intermingled with the taste of the raindrops fallling on them. 
The kiss broke apart and he rested his chin on the top of her head, holding her to him. Slowly, they began to sway.  He was dancing in the rain with her. His hand curled in her damp, fragrant hair as their Converse sloshed, drinking up the rain water. The flowers turned their brightly colored heads to the oncoming rain and bathed in the rain. They swayed in place, their damp clothes clinging on to their skin, but they were not cold. He held her as they swayed in time, an eternal melody in their hearts as the rain continued to pour.
I'll be the greatest fan of your life

Roofies III: Roofrandom


So here I am, sitting on the roof again. I guess this is turning out to by kind of like my comfort paradise? Is there such a thing called a comfort paradise anyway? Because a place can be paradise, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's a place of comfort is it?

Okay fine, all these sexy hotels down south and in Udawalawe and stuff, you know, the hotels with the luxurious jacuzzi pools that massage your butt and the spas that give you dead-to-world-sleep massages? I mean you call those paradise and they certainly are comfortable but they aren't comfort if you know what I mean. Does that make any sense?

Anyway. Here I am on the roof, with my usual munchie. Well. Okay, it's isn't mango pickle or mango chutney. It is actually ambarella. Yeah ambarella. And NO, I am NOT eating it raw (blehh) because I hate it raw, but when my mother makes Ambarella curry, I simply CANNOT (the emphasis being on not) resist the allure of it. Okay so yeah, I stole a container full of Ambarella curry and I am seated here, eating it.

There's a really nice soft breeze circling the vicinity of my house by the way. It surprises me cause the past few days it has been so effing hot and I woke up halfway through the night and slept very restlessly afterward because I was sweating like a pig.

And what's up with that? About the sweating like a pig thing? Do pigs sweat? I guess they do have cooling mechanisms like humans since they are mammals too.. but I guess it's more of releasing heat? But then all mammals should be able do that right? All mammals are exothermic? So if all mammals are exothermic, why do we use the term "sweating like a pig?" Isn't that a subjective term? I mean, if pigs were able to effectively communicate with humans, we might even have court cases for using that term. Like, why can't we say "sweat like a bat" or "sweat like a cat" or something? They're mammals too? Although we can't say "sweat like a crocodile because crocs are reptilians. And talking about the pigs being civilized; there pigs who in comparison to certain humans are much more well behaved and civilized. Seriously, humans should be sub-classified under the titles civilized, somewhat civilized and complete animal.

I was thinking about G-strings earlier. They're a real pain in the butt (no pun intended). Yeah so guys say they're sexy and yadda yadda but seriously, I feel SO naked when I wear them and it's really uncomfortable at times, specially the lace ones. The lace ones tend to roll up between your butt cheeks and it becomes really uncomfortable then. Sometime I really feel like "screw the effing panty lines, comfort over style for me" but then in some cases, like in official stuff, I guess you have no choice?

MUN is this weekend. I am seriously surprised at myself because I actually spoke and entertained Points of Information. Not that I'm terrified of public speaking or whatever, but it's still kinda... y' know.. AND OMG! Edward Cullen is in my committee!
Yes! Edward Cullen!

Okay let me explain.

I'm not one of those Twilight addicted fucktards okay? I hate the book. I honestly do. I hate the movies even more. Seriously, Twilight comes NO-fucking-where close to Harry Potter or Lord of The Rings. Anyway. So I read Twilight (obviously I have to read it to decide whether I like it DUH) and it's like whenever you read a book with fictional characters in it, you have your own vision-slash-idea-slash-picture as to what each character looks like right? Like in your mind's eye, you have a personal picture (and I did NOT mean that in a perverted sense). Well, there's this guy, the first time I saw him, the words Edward Cullen flashed across my mind in big, bold PURPLE block capitals. And I tell you, he is VERY easy on the eyes.. and he has a marvellous behind..mmmmm.

Ahem. Anyway. 

So yeah.. that's what's been happening lately. Other than that, some male homophobic drama which I do not wish to relate because it is far too tiresome. Ah males! How you feminine you are! 

Currently I am lusting after a pair of Green shoes I saw at Mondy. They're SO gorgeous, made out if this delicate olive Green satiny material with a one-inch heel and a buckle ankle back strap. It's open to and it has these cute criss cross arrangement of straps over the toes. It's GORGEOUS. Gosh. I want it so bad.

Life goes on... here I sit and I eat my ambarella. Akki came and she went back and I really miss her, more than I missed her last time. Over the holidays we got really really close and I shared a lot with her. I realised that even though in writing I am emotional, in real life I hardly let people see me cry and stuff. I have Woman of Steel facade. But then when it's nighttime and I'm lonely I gush out my tears like the freaking Niagara. Hmm.

I guess this is a more of a serious note that rest because I am coming to realise that fact that I'm leaving school in May. Sigh, where did all that time go? I'll miss my friends SO much! Specially Thami and Rush. Theja I hardly see so it's all right. I really am looking forward to uni because I looked at the coursework and it really seemed interesting. But I'll really miss everything about this microscopic, hot, judgmental island which I call home. 

I feel lucky. Yeah. I have the BEST best friend anyone could ever have. Theja is the most awesomest person (is awesomest a word? =/ ). It's like, I've been having all these crappy problems and the moment I talk to him, everything seems fine, even for those few minutes and I forget everything and he cracks me up so much. I rrally miss the guy though, I haven't seen him so long. And Thami. Oh gosh she's been an angel the past few days when the going got tough. I really can't.. well, I don't know what to think (maybe because my mouth is having orgasms because of the ambarella I'm eating) but yeah.. *speechless*

Damn. I love them both. ♥


"Find out games you don't wanna play
You are, the only one that needs to know
I'll keep you my dirty little secret"
- All American Rejects

Saturday, February 06, 2010

Spectrum: The Claret Carpeted Street



There was smoke everywhere. The continuous gun-shots were fired at a heart beat pace. People were screaming, people were dead and dying all over the street. People were running everywhere and they fell dead as they tried to flee the violence that was upon them. Sadists, blood thirsty sadists, killing off humans for no solid reason.

In the midst of all this, a twelve year old boy sat, huddled in the shadow of a wreckage of a car that was partially in ashes. The street around him was in rubble and ruin. His grimy, black-smudged face was obscured by his small, dirt covered hands while tear tracks glistened from the corner of his soft brown eyes and down his bony cheek. His clothes were blackened with smoke and an array of stains. His legs were popped up in front of him, the blue-denim torn at the knees and caked with a small splatter of blood displaying the result of a very recent fall. He was wishing for his parents, who he had not seen for nearly a day. His elder brother and sister were long gone too; they had gone to find the whereabouts of their parents, and he, the youngest, was left alone in a lonely flat above a street shop when the firing had started. The street was teeming with people both forever still or standing and fighting. The stench of death and the salt-rust smell of blood clouded his brains while the smoke of the burning buildings choked him, burning his throat and eyes. The street and its once handsome shops were an inferno and they charred away into black smoke and black dust in front of his eyes. The flames devoured shops and houses that had once been displays of delicious sweets, trendy clothes and shelters of loving families and friendly people.

Dead bodies were scattered and he watched people burning alive, the smell of charred flesh making the bottom of his stomach convulse in horror and disgust. Blood was all around him, pooling rich-red under the gunned down mangled bodies like carpets of the deepest burgundy, splattered like paint on walls and shattered windows while at his feet, shards of glass were scattered like high cut diamond. His shut his eyes and covered his ears with his blackened hands, trying to block this nightmare from his thoughts. The noise of the explosions and the fatal screams were at a fever pitch. He thought of his family and he wondered what had become of them. He tried to drive the demons out, the gory beasts that attacked his young mind, scarring it with their sadistic actions, he was trying to shut them out but all was of no avail.

He remembered his family and a tear fell down his face. He thought of his mother and in his mind, he saw her soft, beautiful face and long dark hair and from a sane corner of his mind then sprung a memory of his mother singing a song to him. A song she always sang to him and his brother and his sister when they were sad. Remembering her words, he began to sing to himself. To drive the horrendous scene around him away, to tune it out, he sang her song. The fighter planes flew overhead, the guns fired continuously and he sang her song, tears running down his face because he wanted to shut it all out.

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom let it be

The explosions increased in sound and the screams increased in frequency. He kept singing to himself, remembering those times of his life that made him truly glad for living. Now, it seemed like memories out of another person’s life. The happy times he remembered seemed unreal amidst this war and this hate. Yet they were there, still and frozen in time, always to be reckoned with as a happy recollection.

He remembered how his father picked him up and flung him around, pretending that he was a flying a plane until he was screaming in delight. He remembered one time when his brother had taught him to carve animals out of driftwood bark and they had made a whole family of bears with the driftwood. The memories of his sister playing the large, gleaming black piano with him came to him in a rush and then saw his mother in his memory, dressed in her large yellow apron, piping icing onto cookies while him and his sibling decorated the with their father popping cookies into his mouth when he thought they weren’t looking. The memory made him smile. The rush of colour and vitality in his memories were overwhelming in the black and grey setting he was now in. They shone strong and bright against the dull, muted greys of the hate and sadism that surrounded him. As the memories rushed on in his head and his lips sang the song, the blur of the recollection was a rapidly moving, vivid film-reel of images, some moving some frozen forever in time. He watched them, and in his is young soul, he was thankful for the happiness he had had for he wasn’t certain of living longer under the situation. 

His eyes flew open when something fell on the ground next to him. He saw the body of a wounded, battle-worn soldier, a gunshot wound in his leg and arm, his uniform covered in blood and grime, and his faced gashed and bleeding, his hands shaking in uncontrollable pain, life slowly bleeding out of him. A fallen hero. He watched in horror as the blood dripped out of the soldier’s wounds and his body tremored on the street. The boy, in a selfless moment of desperate empathy reached out to the soldier’s large  hand and covered it with both of his, holding it tightly, to trying to tell him that it was alright and showing him that he’s there, next to his battered body, keeping him alive for heroes like him were not meant to die. Maybe the soldier understood, because he smiled at the boy and breathed free for after what might have been years and held on to the small boy’s hand. The boy closed his eyes, tears dripping down his nose, and sang his mother’s song again,  and amidst the hate and violence of the war stricken street, both the man and boy both found a moment of peace and serenity in their minds as they shut all other things out.

There will be an answer, let it be

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Roofies II: Roofie Addiction

I'm having a Zen moment.
It's like what.... some ungodly hour and... wait, let me check.. oh it's 2.06 am, so it's not ungodly at ALL by my standards. No, I am not being sarcastic.

Or am I?

Sometime this excessive use of sarcasm confuses my own very nimble mind. Being overly cynical has it's sife effects you know... Like the sarcasm gets sort of.... embedded into your veins (or wherever the hell it is) like excessive intake of chocolate leaves one in an all time high you know? And then you can't get rid of it, cause just as the after effects start to hit and it slowly runs out of your system, you ingest more chocolate and it's hits you again. Damn, it hits you.

Is it just my perverted mind or did the last line sound wrong?

Anyway, it is so with sarcasm. It's like a drug you know. Incidentally incase you're wondering where I am at the moment. Well, I AM on our lovely blue (and Green) planet and I AM at home and yes, you guessed it right, I am on the roof.

It's a Zen night. Quite peaceful if I do say so myself and there are hundred thousand gazillion stars scattered on the night sky.

Okay, I lied. I see like 50-100 stars artfully scattered and here I am, lying on my back, twisting my neck this way and that, trying to spot Big Dick. Big Dick is the star that my perverted eyes's spotted back at the pool side of the hotel in Sigiriya in July, when Rakkhitha aiyya, akki, Danishka and I were leaning back on deck chairs and starin at the sky. Now come on, I'm a teenager and I have hormornal hyperdrives which leads to a constant state of perverseness and well, we were all staring at the night sky when I saw a pattern of stars of that looked incredibly like a half erect male sex organ. I didn't say anything at first, but then I realise it wasn't me being horny, it actually was shaped like this, so I confided in Danishka of my discovery and he saw what I saw as well, and we wanted to confirm my observation further, so we mentioned it to Rakkhitha aiyya and akki and they agreed! And we promptly christened the constellation Big Dick.

And apparently, Big Dick can ONLY be seen from Sigiriya. Elusive bunch of stars! Hmpf. But yes, I am trying every darndest thing to get a glimpse of Big D, but all I see is boring Orion's belt and the scorpion. Sigh.

Sadly, I have no mango pickle today to munch on. So instead I grabbed a spoon and a big jar of mango
 chutney.

I recently took a test (don't ask me where) about what mental disorder(s) I might possibly be having. I was pretty convinced that I had Bipolar disorder cause, you know, I have weird mood swings, (albeit that maybe a result of WAY too much chocolate ingestion) but then, the test result was that I had ADHD. And then I Googled ADHD and now I think it's possible that I habd ADHD AND Bipolar. Does that mean I have two confirmed mental illnesses?

Hmm. Why am I not surprised? I always knew that my brain had WAY more capacity than anyone else gave it credit for! Who knew that it had the capacity of withold not ONE mental disorder, but a grand total of TWO?

Damn.

You know, this is more proof that I am God. Cause only God can have two mental illnesses and still be able to function at the pace that I am functioning at cause I mean, what sort of person an have ADHD AND Bipolar AND climb a roof AND eat MD Mango Chutney straight out of the bottle with a soup spoon AND remember all the lyrics of I Know What I Am by Band of Skulls and AND Twenty One Guns by Greenday AND So MANY Beatles songs AND not to mention all those Baila songs?

I'll tell you whom: God.

Yes, I am God, and here it is, proof. Wall, maybe not THE God, but some kind of higher being!

Argh, duck. I have to finish this chutney. And play my SEXY ASS air guitar.

Toodles.


" Keep looking in the locker cause you don’t know yet,
But I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be " 
- Band of Skulls 

Sunday, December 06, 2009

Ode to Ferrero Rocher




Ferrero Rocher, Oh chocolate cream
Melts in your mouth like a chocolate dream
Layers of milky chocolate wrapped inside
If the factory shuts down, I will suicide

Walnut chunks in chocolate so fine
Eating so many, it feels like a crime
Wrapped in gold paper, rip it off quick
Mouth of chocolate, divine and thick

Every mouthful, a frenzied bite
Makes me head feel giddy and light
Waves of chocolate simply flowing
If heaven has doesn’t have it, I ain’t going

Boxes and wrappers all over the floor
Munching Ferrero Rocher behind locked doors
Heaven on earth, oh blissful delight
The God of Chocolate has blessed my diet

Showering the world in a chocolate kiss
Oh, Ferrero, its perpetual bliss
Ferrero Rocher, so creamy and fine
Oooh Ferrero Rocher, you?re all mine!

Keep on munching, end up high
Lost in chocolate dreams, I fly
In comes my mother and yanks it away
She took my Heaven! Oh, she will pay

"Enough of this nonsense" she says to me
She takes the chocolates and takes her leave
My tears start to fall so hard and fast
My chocolates becomes a thing of the past


The Name in the Sand



The name in the sand will not last
The waves come rolling high and fast
And washes all the lines away
It will be just another day
The foamy waves, the sky so blue
Slowly fades into memory true
Where sky meets the horizon vast
Melts into the distance, soft and fast
The day will fade and the night will come
And soon those memories under the sun
Will be fading whispers and shadows old
The setting sun glowing like molten gold
One step forth on the sandy shore
The voices, those voices! They haunt no more
Looking back, see the waves crash down
A sweet, melodious, haunting sound
The name in the sand will not last
The waves come rolling high and fast
Fading into eternity forever more
Those wonderful memories let loose, they go
The name in the sand did not last
The waves came rolling high and fast
And the footprints that were left behind
Were just footprints in the sands of time

Broken


Tears cascading down her pretty face
Amidst boxes full of clothes and lace
As I stand there, she sits and cries
I try to cheer her with a few white lies
What is the matter? I do not know
How do I know why she's crying so?
She's sitting there, sobbing her poor heart out
Something is very wrong, without a doubt
I sit by her side and hold her hand
But honestly, I really don't understand
So I open my mouth to say a word or two
And I end up staring at my shoe
I shake my head and wonder why
What terrible thing is making her cry
Tears are falling, hard and fast
I want to do something so this doesn't last
I paced the room, up and down
I stared at her with a little frown
Contemplating, thinking hard again
I wondered what was causing her so much pain
So then I went down on my knees
And asked "What's wrong? Tell me please"
She looked at me with red rimmed eyes
But, yet, I still couldn't realize
What was wrong, again I asked
And handed her some tea in a thermos flask
She sipped the tea while she sat on the bed
She breathed slowly and then she said
"Please don't get mad, don't rant and rail
The truth is... well.. I broke a nail"

Addiction

I say addiction. You say fight it. Addiction can be conquered.
However strong your addiction is, somehow, humans have the will power to fight it.
Drugs?
Quit them.

Alcohol?
Give it up.

Pornography?
Get over it.

Yes, it does seem that addiction can be countered. Addictions. They take control of your life for some time, weeks, days, years. Yet, you can fight it. Resist it. Challenge it and get your life back on track.

But what if your form of addiction is a person? A living breathing human? Can you fight it then? Can you conquer it?
As long as that person takes up space in the most vital organ of your body, the heart, that person is an addiction. Maybe even a life time addiction.

What do you do when the way he says your name is an addiction? What do you do when his smile acts faster than marijuana, to affect your brain?

Why is that even the touch of his hand is an addiction? The way he looks at you, the turn of his head, his sparkling eyes, his hold on your hand...

When they are all addictions, what do you do?

Could you fight it?

Could you deny that longing in your body?
Can you ignore his intoxicating smell?

Can you shield yourself
from the rush of adrenaline in
your system when he kisses you?

Could you confront the feeling of addictive bliss when his mouth is moving against yours?

Is it possible
to be immune to the immeasurable pleasure he gives you when he kisses your neck? Tell me, can you fight it?

What do you do when the object of your addiction is a person? Can you get over it? Where in the world do you find rehab for addiction to a person? How can you love him with all your heart and never feel like you love him enough? How is it that you will ward off the serene calm he gives you when he's around?

How can you resist it?

How could stop your addiction, not indulge in it when he loves you more than anything? You tell me, can you stop it?

I say addiction. Do you still say fight it?