in the cemetery where i buried our years of memories, but even these weight of dirt can't undo the love spell that my heart cast on you.
i should've left you before but i keep stitching my body and soul to you when at the very first page, we shouldn't be even in the same apartment because of how coward you are, dressing up as a lion.
the gold you've walked into the better made my life crumble into pieces every single time i take a little step.
but you tolerate it as my finger was itching for a ring that you never give.
almost two thousand days of suffering,
almost six years of keeping it private but the reasons i needed never been in public.
so, so long, london. you'll find someone, but not someone like me.
YOU ARE READING
Desperate Nightmares, Old Habits Die: Prose and Poetry
Puisii live in a poetic life but dying from your poisonous lies. we live in vain, so we drink until we get drunk in our own mistakes and sins. but still making out with the devils, but in the back of my mind, i'm with you - haunting me stunningly.
