All the bloodiest midnights
Playing instruments and time
Bruises that ached my sight
Are the rainbow discolored within dawn
Broken in black
I sheltered to my loneliest shack
As they shouted, "What an awful melody! "
I hide in bushes painted in greed
A few abandoned calendars ago
You authorized and permitted my unsinful lyrics
To become the symbol of weaved fallacies
Instead of great hopes
Because they never listened to my disastrous journey
Only arriving at the mournful victories
I used to be a composer, creating music to please the ear
Now, people never wanted it to hear
All my melodies and beats were kept in a vault
It was always me; it was never their fault
It's always priceless
You only have yourself to listen to what's left
The pieces of thorns my heart shed when I'm sick
Is inside the jukebox of unlistenable music
YOU ARE READING
Your Love Buried Deep Inside My Disastrous Heart (Poetry)
PoetryMy most poetically written poems are buried deep inside my disastrous heart. Love is poetry; you are the poetry.
