Holding on to the line of the balloon always seemed easy until distractions happen and we let go of it unknowingly.
Is it meant to be attached by the wrist or do we allow it freedom to drift off to the city of lights?
Writings of a Phobophobe.
Holding on to the line of the balloon always seemed easy until distractions happen and we let go of it unknowingly.
Is it meant to be attached by the wrist or do we allow it freedom to drift off to the city of lights?
Candles lighted,
Before us a creamy buttery slice.
In the sepia and dim,
Light was brightest in your eyes.
In all snow and white,
You brought flaring summer.
Two heart popsicles,
Melting into sweet pink mush.
If tenderness is an ache,
from exercising vulnerability.
Then gratefulness is the relief,
for training the bravest hearts.
Tippety tap, tippety tap
Footsteps hurrying.
Tippety tap, tippety tap
Raindrops fighting.
Tippety tap, tippety tap
Fingers stimming.
Tippety tap, tippety tap
Her heart thudding.
Scattered mass;
Glorious mess.
Towering strongholds —
The only grasp of reality.
A touch of poison;
A kiss of death.
Your hugs were wreaths
Enclosed with regrets.
Is it greater pain,
To have found true love and lost
Or to never have found before?
200g of comfort;
3 tablespoons of coincidences;
500ml of laughter;
Whisk until smooth.
–
Line union tray with empathy,
Pour in happiness mixture.
Pre-heat oven with self awareness,
Bake at 190 degrees celcius.
–
Observe when sincerity rises,
And romance turns golden brown,
Remove with understanding mittens.
Leave to cool with personal space.
–
Add a dash of luck
And sprinkles of shimmery joy.
Slice for 2,
Serve warm.
Them pearly whites got him smitten,
And his lonely chapter got rewritten.
Killed with that smile,
Please let it last.
Paintings of you,
Made with brushes of lust.
Play with this child,
All night till dusk.
Now close up that mile,
Come into me fast.