he is my piano,
my chords and my keys.
he brushes his fingertips over my ribs
and scrapes my scars
to hear me sing.
he kisses my sinking bruises
and tugs my hair
to feel the beat.
oh how he dances to my screams
hums to my sobs.
i can still recall my teary eyes
how when i sang
my soul bled.
now i must sing to him.
but i don't mind:
as my favourite audience is dead.
YOU ARE READING
clarity poems
Poetryjust my collection of poems. i didn't know what to do with them so i decided to publish.
