Do you know the loath that sinks through the glands of his tissues? The perennial suffering of nights indifferent, dawns and dusks of rubbled, wasted letters. Of moon cycles he kissed the feet of every god, prayers washed with sins unanswered.
Do you know the pain he has battled? The lies he has ignored? No, love, you don't.
You will never, until you are the thorn prickled with scorn.
❝ YOU SEE, WE ALL SWALLOW LIES WHEN OUR HEARTS ARE HUNGRY. ❞
| • • • |
I'll weave a tale for those who'll listen,
a tale for those angered souls,
a tale, for those wrought in pain.
I'll hear your silent screams,
and I'll be your silvery voice.
- a tale for those whose inner beauty remains unseen
YOU ARE READING
WICKED HEARTS
Poetry❝ WE ARE ALL THE BAD IN SOMEONE'S STORY. ❞ do not copy. all rights reserved ⓒ 𑁍 blue rose awards | first place in poetry & second place in unknown story
