A ransom is rather romantic.
A swamping race through a forest, barefooted, mud between my toes.
I always did like to be chased.
Watch out for catty cattails;
they always did like to interrupt a game of tag.
Is it wrong to play-fight and enjoy that rush?
Hop, skip, leap to get away,
except I want you to catch me round the waist.
The rope you bind me with is made of mental stuff;
Is it required for prey to fear their predators?
Trust makes the world go round.
Cinnamon is spicy and delicious:
I’ve always wondered why jasmine is the most common aphrodisiac.
Wouldn’t it be better to bed a spice with spunk?
Nevertheless, apples will be the most sensual of fruits;
Once, I whispered the taste into your mouth as you slept,
You smiled inside your dreams.
If I take vitamin’s to give me what I don’t have,
then why do I feel so fake?
Is it because I patch up my innards,
Intending to make up for my own shortcomings?
I will never eat your cheesy and gluten-filled innards again.
A shame, really; I want to devour you whole.
All dressed up with nowhere to go;
A streetwalker without a street to walk upon, except
I swore I’d never be dead common. Really,
I’m more like the moon without the sun:
I don’t shine until you shine for me first.
Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.
I never played house as a child;
too unreal, which is silly, because I’ve always complained of boredom.
If the world was in my palms, I’d throw it away,
because I’d rather that you were my world instead.
But I’ll state in my will that I never wanted to own you:
entire planets must be admired from afar to do them justice.
If you asked me how I got to be this way, I’d answer
that I ate too many lemons,
read too many romance novels.
Permanently, pessimistically puckered,
with an unreal sense of love.
I wish I could fill my summertime with sadness,
but reckless behavior has never been my forte;
this couch really is comfy.
Someone should kidnap me and make me run for my life;
off to races with you!
I’ve never been down route 66,
but route 666 is hot as hell and there isn’t a speed limit.
Crowded, bustling and it smells like sin,
but baby there’s never been a sweeter ride.
The sights are to die for and the experience is something you’d sell your soul for.
Join in the community project and help paint the road red – with blood.
A ransom is rather romantic;
Do you think I could fall in love without proof that I come first?
Not that money is the answer, but I wonder just how far you’d go –
A fighter has to know if her teammate has her back.
If you like, I’ll show you my scars – and there are plenty.
Judgment is a fickle friend.
The lines between living and dead are clear,
Whereas the border of indecision and love is a thin blue line.
Is self-promotion really the only way to sell a product?
I’d rather we be custom-made for each other.
Aren’t things loved longer when care was sewn into them?