LoveSuicide
"It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for – and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool – for love – for your dreams – for the adventure of being alive." by: Oriah Mountain Dreamer . . . . . . . I spent 13 years on OD as LoveSuicide.
Look for beauty and you may find love. Look for love and you shall find both.
Entries 133
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Tomorrow I will be 45 years old. I’m healthy in so many ways. But I don’t think I believe in love anymore. I used to though. Deeply. Romance. The whole freaking empanada. I don’t anymore. I thi...
Cresting Waves & Stoking Flames in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
There are cobwebs amongst my mind’s candelabra. Flicker do the flames, providing scant comfort or warmth, and precious little light. There are holes and deep hemorrhaging within this loser love...
The Aftermath in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
You sparked starlight with a shy smile in your effortless, sleepy style. I remember drawing air dragons then with my winter’s breath hoping that this moment would never pass and I could just live...
Were We Ever? Don't Let Go. I Never Let Go. in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
“Were We Ever (I Never Let Go)” Were we ever a stirring rhythm? Ever a chord meant for note? Was life ever something more real More significant And substantive Than the stars in the sky That will...
You are not just a crack in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
“You are not just a crack” There are rivers that still rage Within the contours of our past Held firm and in place By so many fevered dams Constructed out of faith As much as desperation Just o...
Hurricane Ida / Katrina in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
16 years ago to the day. . Ida popped up out of nowhere, which I’ve never seen. She never deviated a bit from her initial hurricane track, which as a resident of New Orleans for over 40 years I’v...
There is a softness to you That holds no fear Only a tender trace of hope Not yet smote by tomorrow’s inevitability The impending downpour Of torrential pain That marries so pleasantly with This...
Surgery in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Today because Disability is full of con artists and idiots I had the 8 titanium screws and titanium plate removed from my left knee then a total knee replacement of the left knee. Another surger...
I cannot stop thinking about you. in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
I cannot stop thinking about you. It’s been years, and yet you’re still there as vibrant as ever haunting me in such wonderfully wicked ways. Those bright eyes and that smile the devil himself s...
Sensually Spent in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
“Sensually Spent” You burn clean through me With your wandering, lustful stare Your eyes I can tell hold visions Of vistas mine have never held And I think of you now And so very often More than...
Rambles. in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
The rhythm is lost to the winds. As if it were one of the threaded pages of a well-read book missing the front cover that was left without care on a green paint-chipped park bench. It has been th...
Currency of the World in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
If thoughts were the currency of the world, I would see you wealthy beyond measure. Every moment we shared beneath the hanging crescent moon and Summer-kissed sky leaves me lost and on unsteady ...
Your Sex in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
I have never touched your body, yet I have committed to memory your every curve and bend. I long for you in spite of good reason. I want you. Always. I crave your sex.
Four Years in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
“Four Years” You have that good Carolina wisdom That matches middle-aged gray Yet you are but a young tender blossom In what once was a garden fertile Now boiling in disarray They say everyone ha...
God Bless Me, Doctor in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
God Bless Me, Doctor God bless me, doctor I am feeling a keen sort of dread See, I woke up this morning Breathing short and haggard Full of pain and regret God bless me, doctor I am feeding this ...
Shelter in Place; Safe Living in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
There is a volume to the chaos. A simple yet rhythmic pulsing of regret stained motives circulating within my head. And I am left as a prisoner to each and every musing, wondering as always if t...
I am in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Everyone has a philosophy. Not everyone has conviction. What makes you different? I know I am.
The Cost in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
You smell of lilacs in March. I recall so vividly how nothing I could ever have fathomed in my mind would do justice to your soft smile. You coax from me energy so easily that it feels somehow ...
Ugly Truths in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
The idea of you has always been better than the reality. That saddens me deeply. Because you could be so much more. You choose to embrace your weaknesses instead of fighting them. You surround...
Trust in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Trust is a spark that without the proper kindling cannot be coaxed beyond its initial barbs of electricity into something substantial, but when the correct material meets pure measure it ignites ...
Hanging in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
I write thousands of lines about you in my mind, spinning them backwards and forwards with little pleasure. It’s an obsession. An outlet. It is simple release. I need it. I’m fine. Except when ...
Keep You (My Everything) in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Your voice. It complicates my conscience. It buries me with sweet, simple sounds. Your body is a kaleidoscope, and I am colouring in the margins of the fragile moments we eagerly share with a sh...
Fundamentally Perfect in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
You are a dream, a fascination of thought, a starlit symphony to which I fall asleep each and every night. I have so much within me, such a fervor to fight, an endless desire to pleasure you wit...
Measure of a Man in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
I wonder what it is that defines a man. Is it the way a man responds in the face of adversity? When the situation inevitably presents itself in life where there is no good action to be taken, the...
Choice in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Inspiration sparks When your lips slowly part Melodic words tumble forth As I fall hard Upon the concrete of desire I stake my claim Your voice softens Now a whisper It’ll never be the same You...
