“How A Loveless Loves”
(1827 | 072520)
For long I've drawn my world,
In charcoals and dust.
Never seeing color in or out of it,
Even inside dreams are nightmares.
And in the end what we call ‘self-preservation’
Changed its name to ‘cowardice’ instead.
Can someone tell me why is it,
Everyday ‘taste’ becomes ‘tasteless’?
People told me that 'love' was this wonderful thing,
Then why is it... that love doesn't seem so special?
I don't seem to know what it is or how it works?
To me, I just got used to drawing 'love' in my head; love is just a drawing.
(1839)
YOU ARE READING
Daydrops
PoetrySometimes I'm hopeful or I think I am, but the world slows down suddenly, I see something different. I can't explain what it is, something that's of love or something that's of the world in itself. I walked home unwillingly, and I couldn't help but...
