Splinters of broken hands still trace my body,
Spreading the musk of innocence and addiction,
They crave trembling dreams in my bed,
They linger on my sheets when I wake up and poison myself.
There is no perfect romance,
Oh, the way we fight it and burn it instead,
It just vibrates as we sweep the unclean floors,
With graceful pace, slightly touching the ground,
Unless we fall, and pin eachother down.
And as we sway one in another,
We dance backwards and move stronger,
One to chest, you bear to my heart,
Like we fly on, but come backwards so sharp,
Like another dimension for running lost,
Like another start for a broken heart.
You pull me in and I take you out,
But I can't stop absorbing you with my open mouth,
Like I breathe you, not air,
When you never leave my body to spare.
We see purple stains of grapes hit upon us,
As we tend to them we throw another one,
Like savage hunters we feast on our bone,
Such delicious marrow this fruit bestows,
Blinded to the pain we inflict in love,
But the carnage must be bloomed to cure hope.
As brittle as we are,
We join the coven in campfire,
To ever light us once more,
Fragile steps on the molten core,
Arms ripping one to grab the other,
To fight a dance of screaming mothers,
One violent romance we conspire.
YOU ARE READING
Perturbance
Poesía"The chaos is scattered and split, but the order it has is not for us to see." Here is my 2nd poetry book, yet another journey delving into the depths of the mind to uncover one self. The chapters will diverse in theme, yet they will be having dark...
