Your Ghastly Heart,
Little remains of your face.
Your id has overcame,
And I don’t miss you.
Your beaten and bruised,
Soft, tender, sweet skin.
I don’t miss your ripped
Golden locks of silk.
I don’t miss your tearful,
Sweet, sickly sweet voice.
All that we went through is nothing,
And I no longer need that Graff Pink,
I’m content with an emerald,
Cut to perfection.
Tag: Time-lapse
March Snow/Militant
A militant mind in a peaceful place,
It is a pity to waste such a scene.
With such a chaotic haste,
Watching the silence,
Hearing the still,
Knowing I was meant to kill.
My hand hurting,
Heart yearning
I lay my head to my chest.
I pray to god, so far above
‘Please give me some rest.”
Begging, pleading, I do not feel a change.
But I’m sure there is something he can arrange.
Pulpit seat bruising, I leave
Covered in painful sweat,
I walk in the cold,
Lighting my cigarette.
Dcid Corvid 