You grime up good, in your lair
Pretty eyes paired with a fake smile
Wild and curly Medusa’s hair
Do not forget the nail file
You grime up good, in the night
Black leather boots to stomp on
White shirt to catch the light
Knuckles bleeding to the bone
You grime up good, with your guitar
Singing sad songs in the moonlight
Lamenting over a long-gone lover
As you rue the day you lost your sight
You grime up good, with blue eyes
Raging with anger at the world
You think are so damn special, what lies
You are the epitome of a shattered god.
YOU ARE READING
The Constants
PoetryMy past belongs to those who have touched me in more ways than one. Those who have ignited me temporarily. The people I needed to be Constant in my life. These are my letters to the ones who ignited me, then left me to drown.
