Opposites Subtract

A single tear swerved the curve of cheek dragging mascara behind like sorrow lingers and heavy breath exhales as if they cost too much she scrawls out words with ferocity and intent weaving their magic to strangle his hold to lift the weight… to run while charging and dive while flying away. My lonely writer I do not know you beside that I am you on the other side of hurting walls where your pen moves fast to relieve, mine mirrors the intensity and speed Yet we do not see the kindred hearts peripherally tasked to bask in yesterday’s misery The run/chase mode is a game played by both sexes equally We want that which confounds, as bitter taste and painful rejection are morphine to love amputees as we flail out bandaged nubs, gauze flapping, to the site of careless silouettes dispersing. ....and now your writing baby occasionally swiping a curl from your eyes gulping wine that was for sipping, not sedating encapsulating emotions between stanzas capturing the empathy of those who long to purge the feel of unwanted I make my elixir bourbon much like you, to dim the blue but my veteran ache demands 100 proof… still I’m writing of lovers lost. uncaring women in fading photos only visible in the untwinkle in my eye. Are the lonely souls tripped up in sad bastard heart strings doomed to only love the unaffected? The obsession with making the passion spread to an unexpressive other half is what drives us mad eventually calousing the affection quotient… until we all thrive on blissful days passed by and swearing all ahead are lost. ghosts who chase the living dead longing to splash in their shallow puddles.