Your finger tips
Are like the flutter
From a butterfly
As they touch my skin
Gently tracing the outline
Of all the hatred I have
Written on my skin
You constantly tell me
That I am beautiful
And I believe it
in the very moment
You speak them
You say I shouldn't
Be in need to do this
Story on myself
But I just can't do otherwise
When you are not here to speak
Of the fairytale you say I am
I'm useless
Without you
at night
YOU ARE READING
Night & Day
Poesi»He needed her affection of love and she needed his heartbeats to fall asleep«
