A kiss, of succulent--bloodbathed warmth, plants itself onto my cold forgotten lips. Her voluptuous bottom lip pulsates against mine, a cracked stonekeep. Its a bitter symphony of rose pedals and decay. The forlorn reality that drips down my throat when the ash seeps through her mouth and into my own. A cloud of smoke that started in her lungs has tunneled to my heart. My ticker skips multiple beats, not in love, but in death. Until my heart skips an infite time.
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The Neo-Bipolar
PoetryIm actually terrified to share this stuff with you all. I struggle with a lot of demons and really just need the support and superficial attention that I lack. This is continued poetry from bipolar poems, just a new me, some newer thoughts, feelings...
