[ POETRY & PROSE-
SHORT POEMS- AN
ANTHOLOGY]
A BOOK HOME TO:
WOUNDS THAT REMIND
YOU OF HOUSES- THE COLD,
THE WARMTH- THE OVER
ZEALOUS HEARTS & BROKEN
SOULS, HANGING OFF OF
CHANDELIERS AND FIRE
LAMPS.
it's the brightest part of/ a euphoric vision/ where you feel his fingers over your skin/ tracing the wounds he marks over the pores/ that bleed at every kiss and every touch/ you let the blindness kill you with/ all that you have/ while time runs out and/ the blood from your face is drained/ you look at his lips and realize/ they are as blue as the paintings of night over your skin/ a canvas he used to smear his memories and love/ the pain never ceased but you enjoyed it/ because you felt like a part of his mind/ a chrysanthemum that you allowed to grow between your ribs/ grufeling like an infant in his arms/ a baby/ a child/ a hopeless paracosm of his ruthless mind/ so i beg you to run/ run until the warmth feels like the cold of reality/ and you are able to saunter into the winter/ don't be afraid of the crapulousness of celestial love/ the walk into the unknown or the cold of loneliness/ for she gives forth the warmth that's already been gifted to you/ than the one found in the hands of a liar.
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