Sweet Ruin

Processed with MOLDIV
Processed with MOLDIV

I have always been a hopeful romantic.

Since kindergarten, I watched you.

You were different than me.

You excited me in ways I had not yet the words to explain.

I am a man now.

You are still that girl,

as tender as you ever were.

You are also a woman

with potent curves.

I will not forget to nurture the former,

as I ravish the latter.

Love, Dev.

Look up…

what part of the sky isn’t you?

The striving trees,

blowing leaves,

whistling chimes,

singing birds,

or the buzzing bees,

what part of life isn’t you?

How can you escape this universal truth?

All that ever was,

and all that will be,

is always

at least in a very, small microcosmic way,

though sometimes momumental,

at least so it feels,

inextricably a part of

your

Self.

I could tell…


I could tell you how much I desire you.

Maybe I slip my finger beneath your shoulder strap,

trace the curve of your breast,

fumble across your nipple,

and linger at your hip.

But I’m a writer,

and I know.

You don’t tell,

you show.

Drug Runner


Every perfect poison I need

travels from sea to sea

finding its way

in the air I breathe

and the blood that flows in me.

So, tell me drug runner…

dispensary, pharmacy, MD…

today

what do you have for thee?

Stimulants, depressants

alcohol, cocaine, weed

amphetamines, opiates, nicotine

heroin…

perhaps a benzodiazepine

Xanax or Valium, maybe?

Or..

could it be

all now I need

is just some soft-sell

caffeine.

It’s been so long…

I don’t remember what it feels like…

to be “clean”.

What I wouldn’t do

for just one hit

of some mental clarity.

– Eros_Lit

Inspired by #DrugVerse word prompt 149.

Photo by Brandon Kidwell (Double Exposure).

One More

  
I could use it, one more hour of sleep, one more hour with a loved one, one more hour just to be… but as servant to your insatiable siren call, I am compelled to write because on every word I fear you feed. At all cost, I must satiate the endless desire of my hedonistic muse, to hear her one more laugh, one more gasp, one more sigh, because without me I believe she would … die. As I know, without her, would I.

Make Your Peace

  
God exists, if only as an abstract concept in our heads. Known by aliases such as the universe, the creator, or the one. He, she, or it dwells in the sky, all around us, without and within us, in our hearts and in our minds. Those of us, knowing or disbelieving, the agnostics, the atheists, the scientists, the religious and the spiritual, thinking good, bad or not at all, are not free of the presence of the everlasting and the forever continuum of bliss and tragedy, the mundane and the dramatic, and the realist and the romantic. So find our way we must, on our own and all together, through prayer and meditation, as well as immersive communion or solitary deep contemplation, for there is no escape from our collective and personal existential pain. You can either make your peace, or risk losing the one thing that makes this crazy ride sane.