The poison takes hold of everyone I meet. Strangely, it almost always feels like a feat.
The thorns prick and tear, leaving everyone there,
bleeding, and crying, in pain.
I don't mind it of course, though everyone seems so remorse.
It should've been expected with the way they've been acting.
I take a hold of their hand, letting the thorns prick but not brand,
Tearing small holes into their flesh.
I pull them up, leaving the poison to erupt,
Sinking into their bloodstream, once again.
They cry in protest and defeat, but I always hear it as so sweet,
Like a song that was written specifically for me.
They shake and they weep, wanting to get out but still too weak.
I hold them until they give up.
And although it feels loud, hanging over my head like a cloud,
It still sounds like music to my ears, all the same.
YOU ARE READING
Don't Leave Me Now, My Love..
Poetry[[Quick warning! Most of the ideas written in this are about sad/depressing topics, please tread with caution!]] I always have small writing ideas when making up another book. However, I can't always add those in, as they don't usually fit the plot...
