i miss the people in my head
sporadic ideas in perfect consequence
laying our heads in fields of quilted dreams
calling to adz in our hopes
the way our hands locked together
like two halves to the perfect despair
atomic bomb thoughts without warning
oh come please stay forever
whimsical you were my darling
in your eternal shine of hope
no longer lost in the woods of the mind
but found in the headlights
pretty things die too soon to stay
so i hope i have time to cry
at least till our skeletons are overgrown
with the wildflowers of our hope
weep in the bathroom where you are alone
for the last time he said he'd cry
only he left you there again
cold cutting lovers with suicide pacts
but he is not what he was
and you will be alive once again
to ash and to be the bone
skeletons in our closet covered in rust
YOU ARE READING
if not human
Poetrythe anthology of emotion, the passing of life, the epilogue of pure, unfiltered regret this is "if not human" poems, prose and stories from the dark
