Black veil bride

Here stands a bride,

From days gone by.

She still stands,

Bouquet in hand,

Veil undrawn.

She hangs her head,

Afraid that if she looks up,

Reality may hit her harder than she can handle.

She looks through the dark veil.

Dark.

Black.

Nothing but sorrow.

She has seen,

Smelled, 

Tasted,

Touched the white veil.

Oh she has loved it.

Here stands,

A bride whose perfect love,

Will cause you nothing but turmoil,

Demons you know not how to fight,

Voices you will not be able to shut,

No matter how hard you try.

Her love,

Though thought pure,

Eats at you,

Smile after smile,

Turned into ache after ache.

Kisses,

Turned into nothing but dust.

Breaks you,

Rips you apart,

Like the thorns in her flower.

You will drink from her fountain,

But your thirst will choke you.

She will embrace you,

But suffocate you.

Touch you,

But scar you.

Shield you,

But stab you.

Here stands a bride of days gone by,

No warm smile,

All that's left,

Heart as cold as stone. 

Lipstick and Bullets...

Can I call you darling?

 

It's the thoughts of how it would make you feel that keep me going.

 

I don't know if you'd allow me to,

 

But be kind to me, my darling.

 

It's in your touch,

 

It's in the way I miss you,

 

The way I want you.

 

I've been wanting you a long time,

 

But my tongue wouldn't let it slip away.

 

My lips are bound with the oath I have taken for another.

 

I am spoken for.

 

And I hate nothing more, 

 

Than to think of another, 

 

In your mind as much as you in mine.

 

I lie.

 

I long for what's not mine.

 

I lay down and dream of scenes that would never come to be.

 

You see.

 

But I wouldn't allow myself to taste the thoughts of you,

 

Because every time I am not with you,

 

Is like my lips turned into a gun.

 

The breath of you that would bring me back to life,

Takes it away with one shot, 

By the bullet that is your tender touch.

It's in the sound of your voice,

A sound so loud, yet velvet soft,

 

One word and I'm wrapped,

Forever longing to be called yours.

It's in your eyes, my darling. 

Can I call you that? 

When my hands are not on you they feel empty, 

Wrapped around you they feel full,

Filled with nothing but the longing of death by your bullet.