What is Love?

It is a powerful feeling that slowly weasels into the core of your wellbeing and clouds your common sense with lust, recklessness and obsession. It steals your heart and soul, and replaces them with emptiness.

Words cannot begin to describe the feeling of loving another human being – the countless, sleepless nights you spend fantasizing about their flawless beauty. The amount of tears you shed while imagining the limbs of your fragile body intertwined with theirs.

Only the darkness of the night and the brightness of the moon will ever know of your carnal desire and pain. Love has poisoned you; left the taste of venom on your lips. You have been cursed. He was never yours to begin with. You didn’t share the same poison. It was just a figment of your silly imagination.

These sharp daggers were meant to massacre your soft flesh; slowly ripping your limbs apart until every sliver of you bled. His interest only skimmed the surface of your curves and it was never meant to linger for longer than a moment. Outrun these sinful thoughts – run as fast as your legs can carry you – do not let the meaning of his words settle in the back of your mind. Hide the shame. Hide the pain. It is useless to fight back. A part of you has already accepted the defeat and the other part will wallow in pity and eventually die in loneliness.

Where do I go from here? I’m not strong enough to make the same mistake twice, yet I’m not weak to stop myself from drinking the poison for the second time. Will I let another love rape my soul and toss it in the gutter? I cannot live with poison on my lips, but I cannot breathe without his love.

New Love, do not tell me to forget the painful intimacy I once shared with Old Love. The sinful memories, perfumed with lust, will forever be engraved on my beating heart with blood. New Love, don’t be jealous.

Instead, breathe fire into my lungs, rid my mind of demons the Old Love left, and fistfight with fire for my beating heart.

Then, and only then, I will be yours.

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What is Love?

Molten Chocolate Crush Topped with Açai Berries

Bruised lungs, cracked skull, battered heart and tortured soul – ooh – the first sign of love.

Hypnotized. Sleep deprived. Filled to the brim with emotions.

Devour the heart. Sip on the soul. And keep that porcelain body warm all night long.

Stream sunlight into the darkest corners of the mind and illuminate sinful thoughts of a man with a permanent frown.

Nourish the roots, reap the harvest and protect the flowers that blossom with forgiveness.

Welcome the flaws, eschew insecurities, and fight for the rights to love unconditionally.

Strange and addictive – these feelings are raw, overpowering and completely unrealistic.

Serenade to the ears that will gladly listen to the lies from a lustful mouth.

Don’t fight the current, cave into the passion, follow the heart that never stops beating.

Throw in a life saver for this heart is drowning in a vast ocean of love.

Molten Chocolate Crush Topped with Açai Berries

A Purple Dream

Streaks of gold bid an intimate farewell to the cotton-candy clouds. The fiery sun gracefully sank behind the green hills and stained the sky above with a soft, copper glow. The remaining traces of light flickered through the dense trees and evaporated like spilled champagne.

A young woman kicked off her strappy heels, grabbed a fistful of her long, tulle skirt and made her way barefoot across the sea of emerald-green grass.

With a pensive expression on her face, she hummed a familiar tune; a tune she fell in love with as a child, and slowly walked towards a lonely pergola.

It stood amidst the evergreen field.

Lush strands of Wisteria cascaded down from its wooden ceiling while its roots snaked down the pillars and dove deep into the ground below.

Underneath the sea of fuchsia, lavender and white flowers hung an old, wooden swing.

The young woman carefully sat on it.

Her long fingers wrapped around the ropes and with a light kick of her foot, she pushed off the ground and swung back. Then forward, and then back again.

Memories of childhood waltzed through her mind, and with every high swing she had forgotten her worries.

Suddenly, a young man appeared on the horizon.

The sight of his face sparked a sweet, cashmere-soft feeling in her heart. Even though the evening was warm and inviting, a ripple of shivers ran down her spine. Her insides twisted into a cherry-knot at the thought of them being alone, at last.

He walked inside the pergola and with him brought a dark, starry night.

The darkness, however, was speared with hundreds of fireflies. They fluttered above the blanket of green grass and illuminated the pergola, and those inside of it.

He quietly stood by one of the pillars, with a slow, mischievous smile on his lips, and his hands thrust into the pockets of his meticulously pressed slacks, and watched her swing back and forth.

Their stares were aligned and their eyes burned with desire, but neither one spoke nor found the strength to close the intimate distance between their bodies.

The two lovers remained apart, yet their hearts were as one.

A Purple Dream

The Tale of a Dubious Prince

Once upon a time, in a kingdom of darkness and pain,
Lived a dubious, little prince with a hollow heart.
He sat on a skeletal throne and butchered souls.
And his favorite pastime was to conquer and burn.

He enjoyed torture, blood and impalement most of all.
Hence why his foes called him a bloody monster, a tyrant and a wild boar.

Those who lived in the kingdom were very afraid,
For the prince was volatile and simply deranged.

He ruled his homeland with an iron fist,
Hence why the people called him a beast.
Those who opposed him were beheaded and flayed,
For the prince lacked a heart – mercy was not in his veins.

He was ugly, repulsive, scarred and insane.
And although he was small,
He was fearless and strong.

He mounted warhorses – ponies were given to slaves.
And he’d charge into battle, yell out, “Ye shall fall to your knees!”
Before slaying his prey.

After battling foes, burning temples to ash,
Disembodying the innocent, ripping hearts from their chests,
The dubious prince dove into raping his conquest.

Virginal maidens only lasted a night,
Early next morning, their bodies were trashed,
Into the gutter, with the rest of the quarry;
Damaged, deflowered and ready to bury.

The tale is woeful, morose and dreadful,
But the reign of the prince did not last forever.
He was finally slain by a raven-haired maiden.

She beheaded the tyrant, placed the crown on her head,
Settled into the skeletal throne and assumed his place.

The tale of the raven-haired princess has yet to be told,
No one knows if her kingdom will flourish or fall.
But beware she will not be a puppet, a fool or a dolt.

She will rule as she pleases,
And if protests arise, then the sword that she used to butcher the tyrant
Will once again be ready to strike.

The Tale of a Dubious Prince