Intoxication.

Just a poetic rant.

Oh, but if I could write with your love in hand the words would reflect off canvas and leave the reader blinded by just one glance.

Your love is but pure intoxication. Such sweet sin, polluting every airway with every breath I take. I have the mark of the sin… The bruise of the sinner. You portray the role of an angel, yet your wings have been brutally detached. It was knowingly handcrafted. Alas, take my hand, for I’ll lead you not only into temptation but to a love as deep as the scars you bare. Lend me an ear, for let me be the cure to the sickness that’s been mortifyingly injected into your soul. The plague, unspoken, but so obviously not forgotten. I can see in your eyes, the reflection of an unbarring wave of tragedy, but yet you are the dam to my river. Close those eyes, again, my love… For you are fragile in my hands.