The cinder of my heart burn in my chest today,
A wonderful fired phoenix flies high in the sky, so I look at it and my retinas are burned now.
Is this the cruel lovely fate of an unformed incantation?
I look at my hands now. Is my disgrace my power, or is my love a shame?
Why people always have to judge while it's a perfect will of both?
My bloody eyes pop everywhere.
Am I a simple puppet or am I a manipulative sick of mental illness?
Is this truly an end?
Or is it your golden name
screamed in t
h
e dark
n
ess?
VOUS LISEZ
À Fleur de Mots
PoetryCe que vous tenez entre vos main, Ce sont des vers en l'air, Écrit de ma main, Des rimes qui s'aimèrent Dans ce royaume de lettres, Il y a de vos commandes De vos demandes En "Commande de poèmes" il faut les mettrent Je ne tolère point de plagiat, ...
