A sweet taste, but poison scented,
The lingering smell, my heart now dented,
I fell so deep,
But kept on flying,
Thought I was living,
But really dying.
As I gulped more and more,
It tasted ever so nice,
'Not a poison', I thought,
As my heart turned to ice.
The more I drank,
The more infected I felt,
The greater the strength, in which my heart would melt.
Though fear not, I thought,
This was the poison I sought.
For I wish I knew,
The pain I had bought.
YOU ARE READING
The poems I ran out of time to send.
PoetryA collection of poems I wish I sent, to someone I love.
