Drink your pain through swollen eyes, what secrets nest between shameful lies.
Thicker than syrup pickles the heart, it rots off the vine, a destiny you cannot chart. You are a muse, a perfect storm, I wallow in froth, my confidence shorn. You know not your effect on me, I welcome unconsciousness, is to be. You haunt my kind, poets are curious breed, meet me halfway, that’s all I need. Yes, yes, yes, acquiesce Yes, yes, YES, acquiesce Yes, YES, YES, acquiesce YES, YES, YES, ACQUIESCE!
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Sardonic PoetI have an addiction to the fire. Archives
October 2019
Categories |