The sweet sound of your laughter,
Forces my heart to bleed cold water,
And marvel at the masterpiece it makes,
The drops scattered all over the place,
A beautiful tapestry,
And its sound a sickening beat.
Somehow without doubt,
The little glint in your eyes,
Rips the pitiful thing out,
Tearing its flimsy strings,
And Ribbons,
Holding in place,
The battered organ.
Why the scent of your naivety,
Provokes a hunger so deep inside,
In the darkest crevasses of my soul,
Is still a question to answer,
And the need to shatter,
That flimsy piece of hope,
You hold so dear,
Between the calloused palms of your hands,
Is a mystery untold.
YOU ARE READING
To The Introverts
PoetryAt the unforgiving eyes of the world, I lay here with a pen in hand, To write about the secrets I keep, The untold stories of an introvert.
