The little girl was snatched off her hues
She was bricked alive in the walls of cruel reality
She was stabbed from behind all way reaching her tiny heart
The splatter of blood crashed through her torn veins
Her ribs broke leashing the demon out of teh cage
They told her ti change the way she looks the way she feels the way she is
Made her believe in the horror of dead roses and yet not the beauty of it
They threw her in darkness heard her muffled cries and locked the door to her doll house
Only then did she befriend pen and paper in a mere solitary outlook
Little did she know , the paper would bleed her blood, cover her stains , teach her words and smile away her pains
Little did she realise the pen would be a key to the world other than reality
The softer death she felt as she wrote her poems
Then she feel in toxic love in love as snake stinging her burns
She felt the pain like pleasures in her body
She felt the poison inside her throat as if it shivered inside her bones
She was all blue now black almost like the night sky without the moon
All of the sudden she felt his lips sucking out the blueness from her living corpse
Who was he why was he he felt so much like a cold winter to her burns
He felt like a cotton to her open wounds
He felt like a sweet candy to her little self
He felt like a warm hug from her childhood memories
He felt like a mother and father and everything she lost .
He felt like what she never had
She healed in his arms staring at his black deep eyss searching for meaning she could never get
Why did he come when will he leave when will he sting her to death
She only knew the dead rose garden
But he was the rising sun
She was the moon he was the one as far as the sun
She felt his arms she felt his lip
She felt a tinging of raindrop playing a sweet concurd of music when he touched her
She felt like a star made of silver and gold when he talked about her
She felt a little bit weird when he didn't leave her hand while crossing the road
Who was he why was he
She was seeing the beauty of the dead rose inside the mirror each day when the memory of her smile leased on seeing seeing her sun embracing her .
All she wrote was on a petal of love
Was it love or just a dead rose petal under the rising sun?
- know me more
BINABASA MO ANG
Burning water
Poetrya set of poetry oozing out of my hands. stories that feel like moon to your stars and dream that burn your skin like the sun. Can water burn you? Yes when its splashing comd yet boiling hot when you can see death kissing your life. some minimal dra...
