pencil marks colour my palms grey
while lead streaks the lined paper
with pronounced enthusiasm for
a world that does not exist,
but i wish to exist every night;
it is only a letter.
a letter with a love that spills
onto the pages,
i cannot help to think that
to love must be an art form,
because how beautiful
are the tear marks in between the words,
how lovely are the crinkles
that lace the outer edges of
an emotion that consumes me,
screaming to be felt.
i let it live and grow and burn
i let it burst into flames
ignite and die out
i let it reignite
i let it seize and then fight
i let love have its way.
sometimes love goes
sometimes love stays.
YOU ARE READING
love stains
Poesia[ because i'll never be done loving you you have stained me through and through ] my poem collection about love after all, love never fails
