I've loved a lot of men in this world
but no one has loved me in return.
I slept with whys floating before my eyelids,
but it seemed that the answers are buried
in someone else's basement.
They took a glance,
and quickly stood before me.
But when I began to speak,
they fled like terrified crows
in a corn field.
I was parched of touch—
the thing life has deprived me of,
and they took advantage of it:
a mere brush of fingers on mine,
as if I couldn't fall in love with the brevity of it.
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YOU ARE READING
Dark and Beautiful
PoetrySometimes my thoughts and hand bleed so much poetry I can barely stop them from leaking onto the paper. But sometimes, too, my heart bleeds too much blood that I couldn't write poetry anymore.
