It's a trap. Made by you, for y̶o̶u̶ me.
How do you not see it;
appreciate it's beauty?
The constellations inscribed on my body.
The galaxies constituting my soul.
Why is it so fucking hard for you to look past the horizon?
How do you only feel my presence
when I erupt like a volcano?
Why do you have to wait until I wreak havoc
And paint my words over your walls
in bold letters?
Don't. Don't answer. Not now.
Because now you won't be able to look away.
Your nest reeks of my blood.
You won't be able to escape it.
Mark my words:
(run)
Because I will get to you.
(run)
There's no where to go.
(run)
I want to see you helpless.
(run)
Even if the sun doesn't find it's way to you,
run.
I know I will.
—《♡》—
I wanna punch walls, bleed, scream and tell the world that I cannot be what it wants me to be. I hate who I am right now.
YOU ARE READING
My Beloved Raven,
PoetryRavens smell weakness; they wait for you to die, so that they can feed on you. This one's for my raven, who I sometimes love and sometimes hate. You make me feel so many things. You make me human.
