Desperation

I never thought a part of the body could ache that you couldn't clutch.
All from the absence of another person's touch.
For awhile I chose to believe in lust.
I never knew I'd miss love so much.
I knew dust could attract dust but thought the attraction of souls was a bit much.
I miss lips against lips and hips grinding into hips.
So many moments spent far away from bliss that if it comes I doubt I'll resist.
Hands searching to be free and feel on shit as I attempt to hold back so clothes don't rip.
I've never really missed sex but I miss the moments of true love that lead up to it.
So many offer the freedom to let me feel this but if the feelings not in my soul than it doesn't exist.
I learned that the joy is not fucking but loving another.
I need someone who opens my mind and tears my soul asunder.
It was never the sex although that too was bliss.
What I loved most was the desperation that led up to it.

Not Knowing What You Seek

When you kill off your connection to your soul it becomes difficult to write.
You lack the emotions needed for insight.
Your grasp of words no longer flows into a river of adjectives, nouns, and verbs.
And what sounds good in your head comes out written absurd.
You grasp at the feelings you can recall but they are just out of reach.
Feeling nothing is really feeling suffering you'll wish someone had preached.

If you can't connect with yourself you damn sure can't connect with others.
So there will be no suitable consolation from another.
No writing or art form will be able to ease you.
Only drugs with momentary numbness to tease you.
Oh how you'll miss the feeling of your heart bleeding.
Your soul crying out and screaming,
For love or for whatever the reason.
Caught in between wanting emotion or wanting numbness to seep in.
Not realizing what you truly crave is freedom.