i keep falling all the time
without finding a bottom to hit,
sempiternal, as the incessant search
of something to definitely break me
does the difference between
being a bad person
and making a lot of mistakes matter
if the pain you induce is the same?
now i'm begging for love from the people i hurt
sometimes the moon gets a tired blue
and cries in gray,
surrounded by burnt-out stars
in what's supposed to be a night
to swim in light
i've contemplated this hell so many times
from so many perspectives
that suffering turned into hurting tedium
and these embers no longer have
a centimeter of my skin to melt;
i became the queen of this place before even knowing where the fuck i was
someone please tear my chest apart
so i can plant flowers in my ribcage
and replace the hole in my heart
with a bunch of empty beauty
i don't know if i'm a sadist poet
or just a drama queen
writing down lines of blood on my skin;
have you ever felt delighted watching how wine stains snow?
a mirror can no longer be broken
if it's no more than thousands pieces of glass,
there's no beauty left to snatch
in a flower without petals
and there's no shine to extinguish
in a dead star;
god,
self-destruction is just the most poetic thing
any god would hate me for ignoring
the poeticism in life,
every artist would adore me for gloating
over the beauty of death,
but it was like covering my wounds with dirty bandages
and now i'm bleeding in water colors above the gloom of my existence
YOU ARE READING
the beautiful side of misery ¦ pink
Poetryart is nothing more than the way we have to express how beauty looks through our eyes but art, the real, purest and most captivating form of art is finding beauty where nobody else can so i slipped through the most morbid corners of my guts to portr...
