Your knives felt like kisses.
I was so in love with you
That my eyes did not see
And sound never reached my ears.
I was dumb and numb
And could not come to my senses.
Not a day passed
Where some impalement wouldn't occur.
And I, addicted to the sting,
Pulled them out, mended the wound,
And told everyone, even you,
That my skin was imporous.
Now that I am used to it,
Everything is switched.
Your inflictions mend me,
And your kisses feel like knives.
YOU ARE READING
Not From Chicago.
PoetryThis is a collection of my best poetry in my opinion! I hope you enjoy, whoever may paint their eyes over the letters and words I've arranged! PS-This book includes poems from "A World In Words" by yours truly. Go check out the other book, if you li...
