It is deep in my belly
I can no longer contain it
My body aches for the expression. the release.
Pushing through my skin
Desperate to be free
The fluid movements of passion control my limbs.
Control my thoughts. My body.
The Fire, it escapes from my depths
Bursting from my every being

To crawl inside your skin. To See through your eyes. To Listen through your ears. To Touch through your hands. To Know your thoughts and Why. Talk. I'll listen. Just to hear the sound of your voice. my lips are silent with anticipation. the beating of my heart is the only sound I make. I see the shell but it is what is underneath that i truly desire. I am grasping for a door, a window, a crack to see. Just a small glimpse of the wonder and beauty inside. But I cannot find it. I am here. You are there. Like swings moving out of sink quickly gliding past with only a blur to reveal who you are.

Running barefoot in the cool green grass. Her pale skirt flowing behind her thin legs. She reaches for the twinkling lights that bounce off her skin and hair. She laughs with the moonlight as they dance together in the siren summer night. Strands of hair falling in her face as she smiles with a joy that breaks the iciest of hearts.

Do you ever see a blade
and wonder
what it would be like to cut
through the layers of skin?
To slice
through the dead
and then
the living?
To see the gush
of life flow
from the wound that you created?
To touch
and leave
your mark of life
?
Only then
can you say
your life blood
has touched another.

How much?

How much do I open up my skull to expose my brain? only to let it fall on the ground?

How much?

How much do I open up my chest to show my heart? only to let it fall from my body?

How much?

How much do I let the blood pulse through my finger-tips? only to let it soak up the floor?

I desire for them to see and feel my heart. I desire to move them as they move me.
My heart is burning but my limbs are stiff.
The heat creates in me a malleable substance, so why am I this brittle? So fragile?
I try to move my mouth but I cannot speak. I cannot taste the words.

The torment is as engulfing as the darkness of night. It suffocates as the hand across the nose and mouth. The fight to be free only wrenches it closer. The pain throbs as too much pressure on muscle and joint. Bane-fully it emerges through the eyes. The anguish retained on the shoulders that carry it. It is the haunt of life.