hotcupojoe

Rima: Knowing no other way to do this. When you call, I won’t reach for the gun. Pressing, presto; We are one. Pulling, presto; We are none. Romulus: The division of vision. You sought the government of all And found the impulse of puppetry. No will of your own. But all alone, your very own. Open up, down the middle. Icarious: As it suggests, You are nothing less than naught. And nautical in journey this is, Yet eternal the search. Bask in the salt And drown in the fault. Schism: All you are to us is here, On a plate, on a platter: Pick your flavor. Sometimes, I prefer the tang; Some like it harsh. Bitter is better.

Love. You know it well. Comes in a bottle, comes with a price. Sometimes your senses, sometimes your dime, But mostly your time. Pain. We know it well. Conforms to no form, But utilises every that I know. Humanoid, mostly. To be poetic, love is pain. To be precise, pain comes from people. You are a people. I am but a person. It is difficult to know a people, But facile to know a person. I've known persons, Dark, bright, grey. All alive, all breathing. Some exhale poison, some vitality, But all breathing. I do not know you, creature. You do not breathe. You do not speak. You do not love. Align you not with any, But with all. Your shell is fami

i walked outside, to greet the maiden and the mistress. one and the same, the two. the first which you call "the sun" and i call my one and only, my dearest love and fondest friend. vitality in a word, freedom in another. warmth and initiative, life anew! inciting bravery, invoking discord! regality's crest she bears with pride. all of sound is hers to command, and upon her loud, abrasive call we heed and make way for the door! ay, she shall love me evermore. but what of the whore? o, devil's child. they call you "the moon." but, i call you my all. my fault and my truth, my sway and my feel, my taste and texture. you are as i have always want

some people talk in riddles, and some don't really know how to say anything at all i'm not one of those people so why is it that you stop me every time i used to think that we were what has always been an extension of universal reason and balance the right of the world and the dark refined to form something too beautiful for our own eyes we, blind as a whole, but not to each other and now, you blind to me deaf to me alone in your whirlwind, the embrace of the torrent greets you so warmly and my arms wilt in perpetual offering cold, so very cold when you were near, and even colder in your absence how permanent it seems to me ho