My thoughts have been strangely solid in my mind. They turn seemingly liquid on paper, and leave the residue of poison vapour on my vixen tongue.
With banal strings of poetic compositions beading like broken constellations in the shell of your mouth, you feed me the elixir that rests on your lips.
Tongues tied with the sweetest residue of the faint scent of winter that refuses to leave. This scent is all consuming; I breathe you in, I breathe you out.
There were days last winter when your lullaby danced between the curvatures of my body and outstretched its mark onto my flesh. Your warmth still adorns me, blanketing me with the false illusion of a comfort that ceases to exist.
Inside the warmth, there lies a cocooned memory so delicate. A memory that haunts. A memory that lingers. It follows.
It is you.
— LOVE HAS MADE ME CRAZY, OBSESSIVE, AND BLIND. YOU MAY TURN AROUND, BUT I KNOW YOU'LL BE BACK EVERY TIME.
YOU ARE READING
VEIL'D MELANCHOLY.
PoetryNeither salt nor sugar settles on your tongue. Only this blood of mine does. Neither I nor she fills up your heart. Only these tears of mine do. [POETRY/PROSE]
