She pulls every
string I am build of,
plays dark melodies
on my soul,
brings any rhythm to
my heartbeat,
moves my flesh into a
frantic dance.
She writes poetry
with my lips,
otherwise speechless,
she draws masterpiece
in a blink,
with the blood from
my tips,
she flies me high
with wings I don’t
have on,
she swims me deep
with lungs that don’t
breathe.
She brings me back
when I ceased living,
she kills me right
after I’m born.
3 comments:
very smooth and feels like a confused lesbianism venue of poetry
well since no one so far grew up to the idea of writing a poem for me, I had to do it myself! :P :}
writing a poem needs the insane and innocent infant child inside not to grow up, growing up is for those who need to propose and commit...:) Teeze me....
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