Here's the thing with poetics
Their words are sweet and hypnotic
Don't be fooled
these words are not special, just methodic.
Those sweet words you thought were only for you?
romantic or erotic?
Are just words in the end- always quixotic.
Their intentions the same with any muse
But their actions, if any at all, are few.
And the ones they do?
Will always require less sacrifice of them, than of you
These men want exotic pets, Women like tigers or shrews
Then when faced with the requirements such exoticism is to use
They jump ship to find another new muse
But not before taking as much as they can from their willing canvas, however they so choose
All a poet has are words
Little guts, spine or nerve.
Full of tales that chitter sweetly like birds
Never ever trust a poets words
They'll say anything that sounds good
Just remember, A poet will ALWAYS find another muse.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Doves and Their Pretty Corpses
PoetryA collection of original poems, writings, and laments Hopefully cathartically relatable to those who read it, as you are not alone in this abyss. I am here too. Cover art by: Voidbug on IG
