note: the first poem in about a month I'm so excited.
To be filled
Such a lonely effort
To be fulfilled in pile of dirt
Oh what a shame you say
I say what's the harm
Lying on cold concrete
On a winters day
The headaches won't go away
Therefore I won't stop trying
To banish them
You filthy girl they might say
But I say what exquisite mind
Blossoming into piercing red roses
In the cracks of dirt on the hills you claimed deserted
As time passes by in soft whispers
To want
Yet, to be wanted are such separate things
Prick
Blood oozes out in the darkest shade
Do you feel?
Is it only hate?
