I have but the ending pages left
to write all things I wish to express,
those vulgarities hidden inside my soul,
those heartbeats beating within my brain,
those heartbeats of lust and love and wounds
still open from the battle I had won
attacking lions in the forest deep.
Deep, deep ocean where I sleep,
glistening, alone and pure,
away from splotch-ed ink and pen,
struggling to fight the fear
that pages damp are sure to rip
and spread my feelings far and wide
on southern currents, sly riptides,
and after that where would I hide?
3-2-15
Lilly Stuart
:)
I'm a little discontent with this poem, so I might revisit it later.
