POETRY

THORNS

THORNS

He wore the chigarrete smoke like a perfume

And his voice sounded like my favorite destruction

Bringing my heart closer to it's tomb.

His hands were stained with bruises

And blood that was not his

Yet somehow I still trusted them

With every ounce of my dreams.

Knowing every warning sign

I dove into his sins

And even when he broke me in two

I still loved him to the moon.

My halo broke in two for him

And in order to survive his skin

I carved those peices into horns

Now I'm the queen and ruler of his thorns.