when i said no
i was teleported to
my gallery
i went inside it
and saw the smiling
man with horns
his pale, frozen hands
tracing the thorns
of the beautiful, red rose
you knew all about this,
you knew about this all along,
i yell at him
i loved you with my whole heart
he lets out a bitter laugh
i loved you as well, my dear,
but you're more than what you appear,
you're the most precious souvenir,
and the sharpest spear.
you're hated by the whole insides,
they wanna kill you a million times,
all homicides,
to them, staying dead is better than
you making their hell and heaven collide,
so, let's set our emotions beside,
oh, as well as the millions that because of you, wickedly undied,
let's so who can make their cut more deep and wide.
and he pressed his finger on the
tallest, sharpest thorn.
YOU ARE READING
artbook
Poetry// it's not something as mere as smelling colors and tasting letters, it's something like painting fish in the middle of the sky and drawing dragons in the middle of town. something like having the world as your artbook. \\
