Winter is coming,
But thats not why I shiver,
My soul has been compressed,
But its breaking free from all the shackles one by one,
Breathe and break,
Breathe and break,
Breathe and break,
Unbind me so I may put my pieces back together,
Unbind me so that we may harmonize,
Unbind me so we may fit into each other;
Gogh had his yellow paint,
I have you,
I ingest you,
So that I may paint my inside with you,
With your very being,
And then scream,
When there is no yellow paint;
Just blood.
YOU ARE READING
My Boring Escapades.
Poetry"Breaking free from the thoughts of others." Not alot makes sense in this book. Its not supposed too. They most definitely might be terrible, its just my way of keeping track of things I write no matter how terrible. These are unedited, theyre only...
