His black eyes were stars, and
                            the   c o n s t e l l a t i o n s    in their depths
                                 told me sad                    poetic stories of-
                                  past lovers,                   grey mornings 
                                                     and myths—
                                              the kind only the brave
                                                 dares to believe.

                                  He brought the dreamer out in me
                            the huntress  that lay in wait within my veins.

                                            This poet who once wrote lies, 
                            writes her heart between the ugly verses of her flesh 

                                                            about 

                                                a lie, 

                                                              a dream,

                                             a lust for blood, 

                                                               and a love-

                                       that never was. 

The wolves were out that night—

and all of the hook laden quips
that we concocted
fell upon lips
like a hummingbird's whisper.
Then, they ignited into flames
like burning stars.

That should have been us:
beautiful ash, supernova romance
with tongue and fingers soaked in ink.

We always did find the taste of Heaven
stale, like coffee three days old.

And with that taste still lingering,
you were a walking oxymoron.
A sinner come to save
these easily swayed, glass bones
from smashing into oblivion.

I longed to taste that wild,
untamed energy beneath your skin.
Devour that dragons heart,
and tattoo love along the bruises
I begged you to leave on my arms.

[ The 7 deadly sins wrapped up
  into one nasty little Pisces. ]

You made me violent.

Names come and go,
but the race of these
rose petal hearts
wont easily be forgotten.--

As we spent our nights in graveyards,
with ghosts, in the company of
stone angels and cemetery cats-

Whispering our secrets to the dead.

I don't like rag doll dreams.
The kind where I literally  
start falling apart at the seams.
Euthanize me,
                   won't you please?
I'm comparing rats to roses.
Because, and this hurts me to admit-
years and years before my bones
are washed clean of your fingerprints-
Sooner or later,
                     you're going to forget my name.
It will no longer slip through your teeth
to rest at the tip on my tongue.
But,
       in the eyes you found your 'other',
We will always be the lovers
who mixed their ashes with gun powder.