Can't you taste it?

I remember the circus.
I won a balloon.
My prize in a bag of peanuts.
The clown with the little white hat.
Red designs.
Red designs.
Remember when red designs were innocent?
Painted on a clowns face.
Pedro.
Come to Pedro's!
Chocolate in red sauce!
But only wine when we eat at home.
White wine.
I crave more.
The sweet smell.
Taste like flower's petals.
Burning, burning.
My brain craves numbness.
My throat craves pain.
What a pure combination.
The yin and the yang.
The up and the down.
Up and down.
Pulsing.
Two lovers on a bed of thorns.
Forget the pain, the blood.
To look into each other's eyes.
To feel each other's skin.
Nerves.
Orgasm and fall.
Where the thorns will have their place.
Their own chance to bite the lovers' flesh.
Pale skin.
Pale like artists' sketchbooks.
Not tan like magazines.
Your eyes.
Bursts of color amidst the pale, the red.
The curse.
Of your eyes.
The pain, the pleasure.
The lovers, the thorns.
The red.
The red designs.
They're not so innocent anymore.

If you're going to feel lonely, you might as well be alone. (part three)

Your freedom is my muse.
You are so many things.
That I wish I could be.
Your smile sets me on fire.
Your eyes.
So sad.
So bright.
My dear, you tear me up.
And you always see.
The darkest side of me.

Rather tragic.

So much potential.
Would you throw it all away?
In trying to escape, you've run straight to the thing you fear.
The darker side is easier.
Potential energy is useless.
The brightest always burn out.
Doesn't every person have two sides?
The darker one is always easiest.
So much potential.
Would you throw it all away?
Where passion is essential.
Have you lost the dream that sparked the flame?

If you're going to feel lonely, you might as well be alone. (part two)

Everytime progress is promised,
It somehow slips away.
And for every smile I can bring,
A glance you cast her way.
Where did I miss the warning signs?
Where did this deadly shape begin?
My tongue is saying I am fine.
But you're killing, killing, killing...
Your eyes are so serrated directed towards her face.
This wasn't complicated until she took my place.

Miss Hollywood

She may be glam, glitz.
Sex beyond your fantasies.
But she will fade.
A bad memory.
The fancy whore who stole my name.
I am real.
Realize I am more than she can offer.

If you're going to feel lonely, you might as well be alone. (part one)

Raging.
Thrashing.
Consumed by this thick darkness.
It pulls.
It twists.
Entangling.
Caught, trapped.
Struggling.
All the strength I have.
Quickly drained.
Eternally swirling.
Raging.
Deep emotions claw their way to the surface.
Although they were never meant to be seen.
Never meant to be touched.
Awakened.
By jealousy.
Her screams -- earpiercing.
And the darkness begins to flow.
Drowning.
The soul unsure of which way to run.
Craving the ability to hate.
Craving, raging, no escape.
This strange love pulls at veins.
Directions.
Contradicting.
Raging.
Exploding.
I want to explode.
For in all the ways we've avoided each other.
There's still something there.
A bond, deep, unbreakable.
And in searching for its name.
Friendship.
Lust.
Loneliness.
Curiosity.
Nothing seems to match.
Is this what love is?
I've always pushed that aside.
I have many reasons.
I am so logical.
Too young.
Naive.
I barely know you.
But i'm growing older.
Young, yes.
Naive, true.
But the times we've had.
Limited as they were.
They were.
And I wish you felt their power.
Raging.
Pulling.
Tearing as I see you with her.
If I could read your mind.
Would this be better or worse?
Your silence.
It's always been your mystery.
But I'm sick of searching.
Torture.
Torture.
The game is over for me.
I resign because progess is always negated.
And victory requires motion.
Take this part of me.
And do not threaten it.
I swear to never paint with oleanders.