It was all just,
drunken promises,
impaled into all,
my little crevices;
and while I despise,
the way he tore at my glee,
my feelings can't surmise,
the way my heart doth be;
so again I go back,
to feel the girth of his sin,
having realized he steals,
the hearth of my win;
but still with him I stay,
because for atrocious reasons,
the feelings won't go away,
and it is my dutiful treason;
but I can't stop,
because he is my redemption,
he is my dimension;
and I am already broken,
but my feelings have spoken,
so I must go and satisfy,
this feeling I cannot deny.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy of Eloquence
Poetry❝ this tragedy is soaked with tears that dry the ink in my hands. ❞ ━ the poesy I've yearned to release ever since I taught myself to pick up the pen and write. ❝ for if the painting of my words be the garden upon the gate of heaven, glimpse them...
