Dear Boyfriend,
Sweetheart,
23rd day in hell
and I'm under some spell
I swallowed their pills.
Sweetheart,
these days that are left, I count
every knife's a way out
every rope: a noose.
Sweetheart,
this place is frying my brain
I punch these fists into the steel
but there's no escape
from these cold bars.
Sweetheart,
this could be our final goodbye
they could poison me tonight
or stick me with a needle 'til I close these eyes.
But sweetheart,
I still love you
no matter what those drugs do
no matter how they tell me to live and think and love
I still love you.
Your dear Boyfriend
YOU ARE READING
From My Mind to Yours (2016)
Poetry"I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty". (Edgar Allen Poe)
