You do this thing,
Where you close up like a touch-me-not.
I hate that.
Stop it.
Just. Stop.
It annoys me,
When I can't get through to you.
Makes me want to rip open your chest,
And take you apart,
Bit by bit.
Despite the blood and gore,
Despite the fact that I'd be a murderer,
I want to do it.
If you must know the reason why,
It is because I love you.
YOU ARE READING
Epigrams
PoetryIt appears you've found my book and before you decide to read it's contents, know that... These poems are everything that is me. (Also the cover was made by my buddy FierroThorne!)
