Love is wild, untamed. Maybe that is why our hearts are kept in cages.
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We've shared more intimate silences, than conversations.
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You put me through hell and I still called it love.
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I don't feel the love the same way I felt for you before, and it's both brilliant and terrifying.
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There are poems running through my veins and when I die I will let them bleed out.
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a shitty poet.
PoetrySome of my poems contain bad language/sensitive issues and therefore I have changed the setting to mature and issue a trigger warning. I am forever updating this book, it will probably never be finished.
