the sound of the water
around myself
as I dance on a log
moved with spells
my hand directing
waters traces
oh how beautiful human
with no faces
a missing hole
for your imagination
to fill in with your
perfected version
you don't love me
you're just addicted
to my beauty and brains
which can't be predicted
YOU ARE READING
Talking heart
PoetryTransferring my thoughts in form of poetry. To understand myself, probably, maybe.
