I want a love that's...that's...
so good.
Good to pieces.
So sweet, I can taste it in my mouth
like raw cane sugar;
like golden honey running through my veins.
Love.
Love that admires the oddness about me.
Something so good...I would barely be able to comprehend it, myself.
Love.
Something to gently touch my flower's fragile petals;
admiring them,
whispering nothing but joy into her soul.
Something so...so deep.
So deep, giving me an uncontrollable, ecstatic high.
A euphoric delight that is delicious to
the heart that is currently falling.
This love can only come from the supernatural God.
This is the love that I dream about.
Then, I become angry, because I
haven't found it, yet.
If I can't have all of this love,
will anyone ever give me just a fraction
of this cure for being alone?
YOU ARE READING
Dear Suicide...
Poetry(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that...
