·˚ ༘ ➳〔romanticising death〕 ࿐ ࿔:🖇
With ice-cold hands, full of weird angles,
In between his fingers the sheets he tangles,
Laying lazily over me, like mist and smoke,
I'm taking small breaths trying not to choke
On the smell of rotten flesh and blood.
This room can't be reached by the eyes of God.
In this dark room it is once again just me and him,
The only one who ever obeyed my every whim,
The one that each night would slither in my bed,
Kissing my mouth while holding back my head,
Sucking out my soul, so bare and dry,
Until I no longer feel the need to cry.
Gently holding the bright orb that is my soul,
While we are answering our wild nature's call
We are making love — Death and grain of life —
Both are on the verge of a premature suicide,
Because we can't handle ourselves and everyone else;
What you hear are no wedding bells.
We want so hopelessly to feel something stir inside us
That we no longer care who do we have to trust;
It's almost there, the moment I'll finally be gone,
And pretty soon Death and I will become one.
CITEȘTI
Of sweet and sour - poetry book
Poetry...and maybe sometimes words and paper are enough to heal a wounded heart
