allegedrisk

What is a needle? Eyes believe it to be a small steel apparatus with an eye for thread. Ears deem it a sound barely audible when dropped. But a needle is not a sound nor is it defined by the fall that causes the sound. It is not used for sewing. A needle is the Empire State Building a prodigious emblem to marvel the might of men. A magnetic guide when the North Star is not visible to guide the lost. A crystal to be a beacon when there is only darkness. I can be your needle.

Scream, thrash a thousand blows into me. She strikes me as wind torrents through my desires. Please bluster by. She manipulates my hot, chained urges; I lust for her so. Is it a lie?

She watches them from afar As they go into fits of laughter from things that she could not begin to comprehend, She used to be that way Free of corruption Unscathed form the jaws of the world. Seated on a dejected bench Tainted by surreptitious wounds, She observes them Attempting to drown out the shadows surrounding her Never quite succeeding, But for a moment She swears apathy is attained. On occasion she inquires where her companion is For no one is ever utterly unaccompanied, Yet anyone can be wholly abandoned. But maybe she is mistaken, For He was unaided, Bearing a weight only He could haul. For this moment She merely

Her tiny feet make a noise that only someone with superb hearing could hear on the off-white linoleum flooring of the kitchen. Her three-year-old hands could barely feel the edge of the countertops, as the top of her curly blonde head reached several significant inches beneath them. She was very aware that it was past her bed time, but she couldn't help but be awake. She reached the edge of the kitchen and noticed that the tall, dark door of the basement was ajar. She could see lights dancing from it's opening. She maneuvered it open with her finger tips and slid inside. Tip-toeing, she moved to the third stair below the doorway. The light w

Eyes meet A fleeting moment of equilibrium But one which is never discovered Unless you are trained to look. Aching cardiac muscle Pulsates beneath layered flesh Yet the beating is never heard, Never noticed, but the constant pain remains. Syllables formed voluptuously from lips Never completely questioning commitment But commitment is given nonetheless. Endless cycle of confusion, Questioning and receiving answers That are only met with more confusion. Could it be lust? Lust would occupy me with desire, Easily dismissible and not as confusing. Could it be love? It is painful, and certain aspects could be considered fulfille