her love flows like power through a god / or blood from a nose / and reeks of nostalgia / her love is keen / in every meaning of the word / slicing through stained glass veins / just highways of heartache / until it's your blood flowing / with that rotting nostalgia stench / until the tables have turned / and you're no longer pining / after the girl with electric eyes / and a car crash in her chest cavity / you realize serrated ribs / and an even sharper tongue / aren't exactly a turn on / not juxtaposed to those honeysuckle lips / and an endearing lisp / she's not your dream girl, no / you'll find her in your nightmares
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SIXTEEN
Poetrya collection of my original poetry- mostly about girls, god, and other things i'm afraid of. read at your own risk. [lowercase intentional]
