I make love to me…… 


I caress my dried scars with the slightest touch, 

Slowly and softly! 

I kiss my remnant feelings and let them arouse.


I try grasping hard……… Really hard! 

I try grasping the black patches in my soul and bring them out,

And hear them lament their story of sterile rove. 

I blow them with my brightest light to let them glow even within their dark. 


Yes! I end up wet……I wet my pair of eyes!


As the memories from rust and the fears inches inside my mind, 

I cringe, I scream in a pitch very high. 

Reaching the peak of pain and utmost stir, 

I collapse in the softest bed of memory stack,

waiting for sleep to cuddle me up……waiting for the wind to softly whisper the sweetest lie. 


In guilt of self-indulge do I need to sigh? 

Or I keep making love to me…….emboldening my every desire?