He walks like glory
He breathes power
He speaks grace
He is the embodiment of the divine.
That mouth enunciates better than shakespeare
He curses me but I pretend not to hear
His soul is crystal clear
His lies sound better than honesty.
There is ink on his hands
Water in his eyes
Blood in his veins
Osteocytes in his spine.
I could dunk my face in water while crying
I could burn a pabst blue ribbon on ice
He possesses an unreal power over me
Nobody can hear me when I scream for mercy.
He has got a fashion sense better than mine
I could bring him diamonds from my mines
Adorn him with sparkly flesh if he asks
Bleed till I die, lying in the grass.
I'm a goddamn loser
I always lose
Always fail to keep
Fucked up and overused.
He could show me a thousand men
With thousands of women
I would still choose him
He is my personal brand of heroin.
He's so handsome
He's so tall
All these compliments seem so small
He could even make aphrodite fall.
I could drown in the ice waters of antarctica
Feed my decayed body to the penguins
I could bury myself in the farms
Feed me to the guinea pigs.
When he comes in his wet hair
It's hard for me to spare my stares
Or those lusty glares
Of no one else's but my own.
I wear pink
He wears black
I can be his canvas
He can paint me with his hands.
He is my prose
He is my poetry
I am just a writer
He is my words.
He is a man of morals
A man of high standards
I painted myself red
So that we both look the same.
He keeps on coming and going
But still he stays
I don't know how
But his aura keeps me entailed.
He makes me wanna party all night
Till my sight blinds
Till I gasp air for my life
With all of my might.
YOU ARE READING
tears on my scars.
Poetrypoetry from the times when i feel dead and alive. i hear the shadows whispering, i feel the inaudible trembling, unwilling to believe, too true to disbelief. -aish
