Waiting for my love to be drained by the stars in the dark. Full by the moon when I awake. So used to this broken state, I sail into the night grabbing my soul away.
Getting lost in the depths of my poor void, trying hard to reconstruct the walls.
The shapes of my heart, bold. Always so stubborn, and drunk. Drunk in pain and in haze, drunk in time and space. Longing, craving for the grey clouds to erase.
And I wait, resting again, testing my pulse. Hope I can go back, hope I don't get stuck.
Once again, with a lot of love to give, I put it in my poetry as a whisper to the wind. And relapse into a form, of pure dark red thoughts. Like the color of my dried blood.
YOU ARE READING
Flowers of my life
PoesiaPoems. Based on women that came (but eventually left, too) into my life to stay forever. Even tho, the roots of these flowers are fed on unrequited love, they are enduring and gorgeously painful.
