i can still smell her perfume
and hear her heart beats with mine
i fall beneath the weight
it's such a tender noose to share
almost at peace with myself
and the drip goes on and on an on
it'll only stop when your eyes do too
so keep me alive till the ghost awake
holding onto a rope
burning my hand on your flesh
sleep until i can't create
and love me anyways
i don't want to cry
but your hands are crawling up my skin
my knees will buckle
and the weight will win
but refrain from calling me a victim
I've played this hand before
cut upon each knuckle
dragging peace upon the floor
i will come to god
whether on my time or his
and talk to him
until blood runs thin
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
