Graft and draft, little supernovae
Slip them into coffee cup eyes
Tired as the night sky
And you get you,
And your brilliant iris,
But the thoughts that morph
Twist and contort contain
That macabre heart
Wounded by a million dark thoughts,
Of broken things fractured
Torn into million peices
You have a paper heart
And a crystalline mind, bruised
By any Explorer willing to drop
A tear or two and it goes on
Abberating, pulsating, cruel world
Cruel self, depreciating in the time
It took to have the bus journey home
He was only there for a second,
And the hollow orchestra played
Another hollow tune.
YOU ARE READING
What He Told Me. Poetry
PoetryI was told to share what I write by a guy. This is what I've done. Some of this is dark. Some of this is the inner workings of what is happening in my life. Im sorry for making you read this
