in this verse, i will not be comparing you to a flower. for your definition should never be encased within a word, an object or mortal entity that collapses within my coarse, filthy hands. never.
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an anthem of raw happiness to you, moulded out of thorns & earth that prick my fingers and colour me in ugly hues.
in this verse, i will not be comparing you to a flower. for your definition should never be encased within a word, an object or mortal entity that collapses within my coarse, filthy hands. never.
love is not meant to be perfect. it's meant to stain, sting and scorch. but it's all i have to offer you.
please accept it in the form of a pool of words, strung with my very own veins and heartstrings.
