vibrant, deceiving eyes were the source of my demise.
you stomped on my fragile heart and observed from the sidelines as i bled to death. piece by piece you plucked me apart; until there was nothing left of my soul to collect.
your insolence tasted like ashes in my mouth.
you kept pushing until i was wholly defenseless; until all of your panacean lies had been ripped out of my chest, bruised and crushed in depth.
the slow extermination of my soul was of no importance to you in the end.
YOU ARE READING
BEFORE THE STORM
Poetry𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝖽𝗌? | 𝗉𝗅𝗎𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗉𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝖼 © 2019 |