He had the power to make hell seem like heaven.
The way he'd burn beautifully in the brimstone.
And draw patterns in the ashes of his soul.
Lazily smoking away his existence.
It was all beautiful.
His eyes are that of one who has seen the devil,
And I can tell he has killed his fair share of people,
Women.
God bless the poor souls,
They had fallen for the promise of nothing and everything.
And its impossible not to fall.
He was sin encased in the most beautiful sculpture.
Most times I felt like his body was a cage.
He always seemed so untamed,
Restless in his own skin.
He was hell.
His misery was beautiful.
He was almost.
He was every girl's almost.
And every woman's undoing.
Somehow you'd catch this creature,
But you'd never be able to keep it for long.
That was his nature,
Never settling,
Nothing is ever enough.
Nowhere was home for too long.
He was like the dead, a ghost.
Just passing through.
He was hell.
He was the most Beautiful possibility.
The most perfect almost.
The one that got away .
°°°
Pretty sure everyone has an almost.
°°°
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EPIPHANY
Poetry"I'm desperately trying to heal myself." •. •. •. •. •. I strongly believe art isn't supposed to be pretty, or liked and understood by the masses. Art is supposed to make you unco...
