H.T. Martin

“The scribbles in my notebook are a reflection of you. Every line holds your name. Every paragraph a feature of yours I love. Each page is a memory of moments that took my breath away. Of times when I laughed more than my lungs would allow. My notebook is full, but I always knew only one would hardly contain all of you.”
― H.T. Martin

“She was beauty and intelligence stitched together with no seams
She lived in a world with no difference between reality and dreams
Excellence as habit, she was much more than simple flesh and bone
She walked in the way that forced her presence to be known
If I viewed the world in melody, she is the only one I would see
She could conquer that world in a day and still have time for tea
Soft lips curved in confidence spilling sweetness with every breath
Ideas remaining and growing even after the revolving dance of death
Fingers curled with the power of creation and the ease with which it came
She sat upon a throne as a queen playing the world like a simple game
She was fire, and laughter, and the warmth both of them brought
She made the idea of perfection appear as a simple afterthought
Her body danced with the tidal currents of marvelous desire
She could reach the sky in a day and then push on even higher
She was the best getting better, the absolute antonym of threshold
The words she wrote were gilded, laid heavy with amber glow gold
She was one of very many, and yet, she was the only one of them all
Her taste made my mouth water, her effect hit me harder than alcohol
She was quality, and substance, an actual angel in every way real
Her word was solid, it was a better guarantee than a devil with a deal
She was better than just human, more like power that has taken shape and form
And I the lucky one who holds her close, feels her heartbeat quicken like a storm”
― H.T. Martin

“She was small. Her shadow moved in the dance of chaos before her as the inferno blazed behind her and licked the sky with its many tongues. She clutched an indistinguishable toy with both arms tightly. Her face was serene. Her eyes shone with courage more immense than the surrounding flames. She was small, but at that moment, I've never seen a bigger person.”
― H.T. Martin

“I think I feel it
The nimble, fleeting emotion
That novels and authors desperately
Try to convey in ink and heart blood
Whose shadow festers in the loins
Of teenagers and their insatiability
The hidden thing none of us can see
Yet we all disagree what it looks like
If only it were love... simple, infinite love
But this was more, this was bloodshot madness.”
― H.T. Martin