Flawlessly rebuilt by an artist's hand
with a perfect count of ribs
butterflied with love.
Gently caressing skin painted blue
where you drew circles of ash
into my tenderized flesh.
To feed your greed for me
i lie splattered in colors
rainbowing the room with pristine lights.
For now I am perfect in your eyes.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
When angels fall
PoesíaA book of thoughts, pains and joys, served cold. No sugar to sweeten it up. i'm but a throbbing cluster of pain waiting longing to be released into nothingness
