Honey,
My bear,
Don't you see?
Your bird is killing you,
Your honey is her key,
You unlock your insecurities,
You are vulnerable around her now,
Soon it will spread.
There is no way to draw the passing time as to when you will die,
But I know it is soon,
We are all waiting,
We know how blinded you have become,
Because you thought she would help you,
Oh honey,
Oh bear,
Don't you see,
You are dying,
For her,
Loving for her,
But there is to tell as to when it will end,
No tell to when you will be pecked to death.
Because your little bird,
Chantaje.
YOU ARE READING
Spirit of the Owl
PoetrySome people follow their own paths, and some others need some help. But what really is the goal we all want?
