if you told me,
the sun was made of a million piles of glimmering hope,
or that the world would be,
i'd sit here and tell you that you're a liar,
so why is it that when you say you love me,
i don't feel myself light up on fire,
and that all i can see,
is truth in your eyes,
is that what its meant to feel like?
without lies?
without having to take a hike,
to decipher the meaning behind every word and action,
without having to battle the thoughts questioning if the words you say aren't just spiders falling from your mind,
waiting for a bad reaction or some sign of dissatisfaction,
or some kind of inkling to find,
that you aren't going to stay and hold my hands in the storm,
like the way that he did before you,
and i know you two don't share the same form,
but if you were me you'd be scared too,
when he said he loved every part of me, my eyes,
and when he told me he'd be here through every bad fear,
just to end up being the reason for my cries,
and the thought behind each tear.
YOU ARE READING
Kalopsia.
PoetryKalopsia • Noun ; The state in which everyone and everything looks beautiful. ✧一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 and here the words will bleed onto the page of each separate chapter in my mind, and the words will fall so effortlessly out of my eyes. 一 一一 一一...
