— where is love?
soured tarts,
missed darts,
and lovesick hearts.
this love,
our love is an art,
of heartbreaks and breaking apart.
of broken promises,
of feelings demises,
of cleansing memories
off every crevices.
of useless advices,
of greedy prices;
buried beneath this rubble
of our failed forevers,
lay lost beside my beating heart,
your own heart's shredded layers.
YOU ARE READING
swevens of vernorexia
Poesiai shall bloom flowers of love in your heart, so you may bleed petals for blood when i leave.
