By: p.a. LEX
The definition of love was lust, you once said. Love was just another phase from which we touch skin, collide lips and crash hearts. The scorching sun freezes your skin-fire turns you cold. So instead of igniting the flame, you made ice out of my heart. Touching you was walking on the moon of impossibilities-giving much exhilarating pain. The cage of deceit you put me in, as addicting as it can be, gives nothing but thorns.
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Pages of Despondence
PoetryA batch of poetries and short stories for the broken. You may portray it in any way you want. Most of my works are for the abused, scorned and rejected.
