He was the purest form of art and I knew that from the way his laugh left me in awe and his lips moulded into a smile that could make flowers bloom in the harshest of winters,
I knew that he was a masterpiece from the way his eyes squinted when the morning sun hit his face,
I knew from the way he felt like home.
He was art,
He is art.
YOU ARE READING
numb
Poetry"he's colder than ice but god, he lights up a fire in my chest." a collection of sad words about numb skin and cold hearts
