like the breath of rarest air swirling under my skin,
like the sunray peeking through my window,
like the oldest summer i've had under an april skies,
i was there by the lakes painting the water blue, but not the kind of blue who's been tracing your footsteps.
alone but with the salubrious habits praying around my body,
the bittersweet lullabies once called saying it's all a lie.
the tiniest death stabbed my heart with liquor that was made with the forbidden acid to make us feel alive — but more than being alive.
it's starting to end as my sparkling summer with you started to get rusty.
the suffering has becoming painless under the june moons.
YOU ARE READING
Desperate Nightmares, Old Habits Die: Prose and Poetry
Poetryi 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.
