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Poetry

𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘴. original poetry i wrote at fourteen.

「 love me, love. 」

46 8 4

by dostoyevskya

by dostoyevskya

mr loverman, ʀɪᴄᴋʏ ᴍᴏɴᴛɢᴏᴍᴇʀʏ, 02.36

love me, love,

like i am sand,

for, love, i am slipping,

slipping through your hands.

love me, love,

love me like you're going to lose me,

for, love, i am ceasing,

ceasing to be.

love me, love,

love me like i'm fading away.

for, love, i will be,

gone one day.

but love me, my love,

even when i am gone,

for i will love you,

even in death beyond.