I'M STANDING WITH MY RIBCAGE OPEN,
FLOWERS SPROUTING FROM THE INSIDE.
I'LL PICK THEM ALL AND MAKE A BOUQUET,
A HOME IN YOUR HANDS, THEY WILL FIND.
PLEASE GIVE THEM LOVE AND COMFORT,
AND DON'T FORGET TO LET THEM BREATHE.
YOU SEE, I'M GIVING YOU THIS PART OF ME,
PLEASE DON'T LET ME FEEL SO EMPTY.
YOU ARE READING
This Book is Probably About You.
PoetryHis eyes are the perfect poem, i'll spend forever trying to write. On an endless search for adjectives, to capture them just right. I could try to write their meaning, but I think you'd fail to understand. 'Cause nothing quite that beautiful could b...
