But her perfume is tar to his lungs, and her eyes are poison to his veins,
He'd tell her he loved her, but he's scared and unsure, he doesn't want the pain.
He's holding her hand, but he'd rather her heart and it's driving him insane,
She doesn't know she's killing him, so she carries her palm in his, as if it's all the same.
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoetryI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
