what they don’t admit is that
Most love poems come from being scorned by their supposed love,
The one they pour their heart and soul
Cauterize their bone marrow with the kiss of death-defying passion that becomes a ragged scar
No one ever really acknowledges
I will write you the most beautiful fuckin’ love ballad with the most gorgeous, frantically designed concupiscence
The desire in your face,
The petals falling asleep against your frown
So angry, so longing
Longing for others that are not there
Against all odds,
The grief becomes hardened callous
That leak tendrils of
Tragic penalties
The penalty of my ever-forgiving love
As you scorned me
You were once a beautiful house inside the tome
A frenetic gyspy that lingered in my lot
I knew you would dance with a gravity-defying gyration
Like a fluttering of pure white Angel-dove magic
Like a ocean tide turning Goddess with big bright ocean wide eyes
Glittering against the black sea
you were mine
Only in my stupid Poe-dreaded mind
A darling dead Anabel-Lee that pretended to be in Hades
Silent on a prayer of candy-crunch dirty love
I'll write a love ballad with more passion you can handle
Angry Space-Muse-Twilight-Phantom
More importantly
I will never stop
The blood is dipped in black sea ink
And the sweeter the agony
The deeper the gut-wrenched passion will eat me up inside Hopefully, I will die Hope
In a study of platonic silence
Melted butter drowning on top of my breakfast
I cram in on my tongue like a daring embrace
About the Creator
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