There's an orchid growing in my heart
Its colour as purple as the bruises on my skin, my dead cold fingers
No water here,
and still it blooms
No light here,
only a few diffused rays of sunshine
and still it blooms
in that gloomy ripcage of mine
going up and up
searching for the moon,
for the cracks in my skin
To get out.
YOU ARE READING
you could call it poetry
Poetrypoetry I. just a small collection of poetry, thoughts, excerpts and playlists... they get better after a while ☆ please do not forget to vote if you like it ☆ please do not steal
