POETRY

self destruction

i would write you pages upon pages to make you feel loved, if it stopped your cigarette dragging lips from being self-destruction of your body.

(you're too pretty for a casket.)

i would paint you pretty pictures of delicate eyes and a constant array of raven colors.

(i heard that you loved dark colors.)

maybe it's the lustful taste of that musk scent that masks your late night ventures and early one night stands.

(you always say it drags away from the hurt.)