My passion darkens
life-sustaining strokes
raw from grating against
the barbed cage of
feigned normalcy
My emotions stain
the paper in
tonal relief, artistic
only in the shades
of light to dark
My skin crawls
with need withheld
my morality cringes
with the painful grip
of desire denied
My soul seeks
not a savior
but a consort, craving
demanding a release
of savage longing
©2017
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I can relate to this in many ways, especially the feigned normalcy part. Good thing you’re not seeking a savior…
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Nope. Some of us are beyond saving — but need a soul that speaks the same language of longing.
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“not a saviour but a consort” love that….
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Thank you! 🙂 Sometimes saving is the last thing we want.
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