Play my melancholic heartstrings like they're the last instrument on earth;
I want to be sad with you.
In aggressive wounds we can converse;
I want to be sad with you.
Sing me a song of sweet, sweet sorrow;
A body lifeless turning blue.
I'm high on psychedelics;
Play that silent music.
I'm spiralling; I'm losing it;
Dangerously close to whispering "quit".
I have this melody stuck in my head;
It's replaying; it's repeating.
Vocals wishing I were dead;
Stopping my heart from beating.
This silent music is deafening;
But I never knew the hurt could be the healing.
Fireworks explode in the night's sky;
Maybe, just maybe, it's the Fourth of July.
It's not. It's everyone celebrating;
Celebrating the fact that I am decaying.
I want to love more than I ever really could;
I want to feel the bad to know the good.
I want to love you even if I shouldn't;
I want to love you but I know I couldn't.
All I hear is silent music;
A sinister symphonic.
A poem full of self-depreciation;
A colorful, doomed reputation.
Take my hand and count my bated breath;
How long until that kiss from death?
I love you so much it's impossible to express;
This music is loud in its absolute silence.
YOU ARE READING
BOHEMIA
PoetryBOHEMIA 🌷🌼 An abstraction of creativity. Deeply rooted in the harrowing aspects of the human condition, my twelfth poetry collection, 'BOHEMIA' is a darker yet stark, poetic exploration of nature versus nurture through a poetry collection ri...
