I'm dead, and I keep on marching, pulling my chained memories, murdering my fate, fighting my demons, luring them to a new love story, a new vow, a new engagement, a new war.
I had promised my darling affection before I stripped her with desire, my hunger for flesh is frail, unhealthy, and insane.
I tried to hide my mystery for decades; he taught me how to breathe through the pain and sense his shivers in me.
He teaches me how to enjoy my sickness; he teaches me how to become a superior artist and how to draw pain on false barriers.
The dark side is my power, my passion, and my smile.
Please judge me.
YOU ARE READING
Petals (#Wattys2016)
PoetryA bundle of poetry. A pigment of our inner self. The process of our daily life.
