"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."
― Plato
The Madman of the shore, the dead eyes of the tower, the world is only in your head, only when I am dead will you begin to unravel the unseen Realm stored within my head, ages of anthologies, the heart of a dead god trapped among the disappointment.
The firmament of awe, where we can pick the glassen stars, O' how we forget we are living- to believe in death is to foresee it, must you weep? miserable soul of the anchor.
~Hypnotising/ Magnetising/ Mesmerising-- so so Endless: you~
28 parts Complete
28 parts
Complete
/Poetry in prose/
With love for the one I wish to keep whole;
To keep happy and overly sweet and mesmerisingly pastel in one piece
---
(sadly, away from my pernicious influence...)
With love for the one who doesn't care about keeping me whole;
The one who holds parts of my withered little heart;
The one that isn't very careful about what venomous words his pitch black mouth spits at me//
What vile vile things will crawl out of his rotten mouth...
The one who holds out his ash coloured hand like he owns me...
The one, who perhaps does...
With love for the rest....