my lips taste like yours after they committed murder
the blood that runs in your veins was once mine,
you spilled it and it became part of your body
the same way my atoms were pulled to your atoms
so they could form new molecules no scientist
has ever heard about
you mutter my name and it becomes a new kind of spell
only you can perform.
my Patronus takes your form. so does my Boggart.
you're both my spirit guardian and my biggest fear,
both the kiss I crave for and the Dementor who gives it.
my bones crumble into the dust you sweep away from your soul,
that you mop into the darkened corners of your hallowed mind
everyone sees the halo adorning your devil horns,
but only I see it for what it is, a crown of thorns.
you wake my heart up from its hibernation,
you bring spring and summer upon it,
everything is blooming and then fall comes and everything is dying
and when it finally gets to winter,
everything is either freezing or crying.
you put my conscience to sleep,
it rests peaceful and still for one hundred years
and when it wakes up
it wakes up to no kiss, it wakes up to a kill
for you murder every thought and every ideal
that has ever dared to grace the insides of my head
you first make my senses dormant and numb
with long slender fingers meant to play the piano,
not me, not my body, and certainly not my heart,
but you played me and you made music out of me
and I can't hear it, for it's in a frequency of the gods,
only I call them devils,
it's the death march to the Olympus and the elegy
to the yet to be killed,
too divine for my earthly ears to catch,
too corrupted for my mind to comprehend.
my brain waves roll over your sand and crash onto your cliffs,
drawn to you not by the moon but by your voice,
the owner of my tides, the siren of my drowning,
the slayer of all choice.
you make my senses dormant and numb
only to overexploit them
you don't have enough love to feed my cravings
ESTÁS LEYENDO
VANITAS ― Poetry
Poesía𝑽𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑻𝑨𝑺 ❝ a symbolic work of art showing the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death ❞ ━ in which she bleeds in words so he can make art out of her blood TOM RIDDLE | POETRY © endIes...