Flight of the Raven

Mascara-drenched pillowcases may be cleaned but there are some stains that cannot be removed like that of the black melancholy, unnoticabely enveloping me,dark enough to frighten the raven into flying right off the mantelpiece.

Blisters form upon my fingertips,from the relentless tying of the mask I carefully place upon me every time a glimpse is stolen,or a mirror is present.

An ironic relationship flowing tension may have but, I'll call it as it is. For the tension flows through my body coarsing within the hollows of my veins,meeting no barrier able to withstand the force with which it spread until.....

he reached out a hand, giving the flow no option, but to cease and no desire to continue. Yet,accompanied by this touch was a coldness, a hesitation thought to be my own...I was mistaken.

The hesitation instead was the product of love and loss, and belonged to the heart of my newfound lover. I glanced over my shoulder in more ways than one,it would pass... all things are said to heal with time..right??? Wrong. These things shall only pass if given the right of way.