I can't tell you that when your words prick me like thorns on a beautiful rose bush they're ugly. I can say that when your hands are in my tangles and I am melting in your chamber of love— arms, I am thrilled to be around that horrific laugh of yours because the sound of your happiness justifies my bad childhood.
You make my mind go black like the night sky that I usually stare at for comfort. Your eyes gently see me for who my body consists of.
Your words— they heal my shredded soul.
YOU ARE READING
Gentle Readiness // Original Poetry by fmlency
PoesíaThe human soul is fragile. Although, being fragile is what makes us human. These are thoughts. Some are poems. Some are personal, some are random- Just enjoy.
