Without you I'm empty
like a paper expelled
for its own words,
without you I'm not
poetry, nor, I'm nothing,
same as for the summer
when night ends,
same as for me,
that when you end near
the river,
along salt skin.
But for some instance
I think you're not here anymore,
because you, like the birds
are free,
like a flower crossed
around my finger.
You're free,
like a mountain
drinks from Heaven waters.
You're free,
like ancient poetry once said,
and I, my love,
I'm just a pronom,
an isolated downfall
running from my hands
that could never find
it's way back to be
completed in your own words.
YOU ARE READING
Wildest form
PoetryShe was the wildest form of the moon coast, So beautiful, So..... like words that might not have a meaning. That eventually, I found a typewriter of poetry, to dance childishly with her. Poetry that you can find on my instagram femmeradioactive sta...
