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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I Remain. in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Temptation. Desire. You are a sweet, sweet madness. You never fail to inspire. I sat down to write, but the words proved elusive. My thoughts felt like concrete, hard and disillusioned. So I...
Need in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
I think of you every night. Your body. Your kiss. Your softness. Your grit. For years I’ve spent my free time imagining you. So many moments. Thinking of you. With me. Wild and without restraint...
Beneath Glass in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
I feel that I have been trapped beneath glass, capable of looking out and seeing. Screaming, at times, but my voice contained coolly and completely. A witness to unspeakable things, and all the w...
Let It Breathe in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
It’s another moment to breathe. Another motive to believe. Allow for development, a heightening of the senses, without restriction by the sentiment of who you are marrying who you can be. And s...
Chemistry in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Chemistry Tonight I am chemical free, but so far from you and me, and I have no hope of possibility to ever so eloquently confess to be the proud man that I used to be that enthralled you so eff...
More Than in Just another day in Paradise...
There are moments in life where all we have to hold onto is our own sense of self, whatever remains not crushed beneath the ebbs and blows of time, conflict, and circumstance. There’s oft no jus...
What Future Writes in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Tell me sorrow Thy own true name The howling winter withers Seeks marks to blame Disparate fellows Relations stripped and strained The candle mourns; flickers And you are gone again Only truth,...
Make a wish in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
It’s November 11th. Make a wish, y’all.
Forever lasts in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
I’ll never get over you. I cannot stop thinking about you.
Hot hot hot in Just another day in Paradise...
There’s nothing hotter than a woman who knows her sports. It used to be gamer girls, but that sort of went from niche and became cliche and overrun. A girl who nerds out hard though.. Oh hell yes...
October 16, 2019 in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
I write sonnets in my mind of moments we’ll never know, looks we’ll never share, and a love – while perhaps the most tantalizing of my life – that shall forever smolder quietly rather than rage b...
This is to document what is going on in my current living situation. Caroline MacDonald from Edmonton whom I met on ProseBox moved to NOLA and we ultimately got married. She cheated on me with a ...
Survey - 50 Little Things (stolen from Tempestuous1) in Survey Says.. Nonsense!
How many pets do you own? I am the proud servant to two amazing dogs – Sam and Dean. They have been with me since my first surgery back in 2008. Had to put our 17 year old dog Sylvia to sleep s...
She sleeps with secrets in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
She sleeps with secrets Ghosts of lovers She never had Her tongue creases Soft lips of crimson A wicked instrument Devouring the courage Of hardened sex – The wills of lustful men She bathes with...
Jazz Beats in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
And sometimes the inspiration comes from the only things you see or feel when you close your eyes, and you let it dream.. “Jazz Beats” Windows wreathed in iron Wrought and corded cold Therein lie...
Katrina at 13 Years in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
“Circuits of the Past” Some days feel like circuits of the past. And the cosmic interface we all aspire to master feels less like a resolution to the inner machinations of our souls and more a de...
Event Horizon in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
I don’t write much here, but you gotta work those muscles, don’t you? Today’s a special day in history. In exactly one week I become much, much older. I wonder if anyone will ever think I’m as ol...
Born From Misgiving in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
And sometimes the inspiration comes from whom you should trust the most, yet they prove worthy the least.. “Born From Misgiving” Oh, bittersweet starlight Are you back for a new bite? Sparkling w...
Garden. in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
There are moments in time that I think are meant just for you. As if the entirety of them since our branches grew long and stretched far enough that our vines inexorably entangled us have not bee...
Feathers. in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Feathers. I write of you. I write of you when I remember just how long it has been since we were tethered in our nightly rendezvous. Tangled within the numbers of one-on-one at times in oppositio...
Disappointment in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
It has been a very, very long time since I have been this centered personally and crashing forward with spirited vigor despite the myriad trespasses life inevitably bestows. With that said, I hav...
You Are My X-Ray in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
She whispers oh so soft at night Rephrasing my sins in her active mind Still, she keeps on Keeps on Keeps on playing With my life And I wonder if I ever saw you right Spoke with the girl I thoug...
Thirsty in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
Stark white walls line the memories we would have made. Blank canvases that call me when the night refuses escaping. And I feel like I am rushing back to the moment when we almost had a this. Som...
Meant To Be in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
And sometimes the inspiration comes from setting the record straight, when trying to quietly be the better person seems to only entitle the madness and encourage the veritable thievery of the leg...
Your Suffering in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...
And sometimes the inspiration comes from hating this place, but needing to always stay true to yourself and sincerity – the desperation for authenticity – and so I still write.. “Your Suffering” ...
