and now my lungs have been cleansed
their blackness hath washed away
all by the kindness of the harsh sun
and whilst his words are twisted
wrung and strung out to shrivel up
a tinge of hope bursts into a beautiful blue flamefor I want to believe in the handsome sun
but the moon haunts me with the pastand she refuses to let me go
she holds a veil of darkness over my eyes
the only light: hers
for she wish me not to do this againbut the sun
he is so enticing
and I -
I am weak
for even his gaze is too much for me to handle
and I do indeed crumble beneath the suns warmth
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YOU ARE READING
breathe {poetry}--
Poetrythis is not poetry it is emotion in its purest form; words