And somewhere in this twisted mind,
I find it beautiful,
unrequited love by design.
The hurt that twists,
I find I want more,
offer myself to agony born.
Because the bitter taste left on my lips,
the slight brushing of fingertips,
the warmth that spreads,
and the cold that breaks,
I can't help smiling at our wake.
YOU ARE READING
Whispers of a Silent Fall
PoetryPoetry because we're edgy and touch starved. Never meant to actually show people these but here we go I guess.
