The poem as prey, as blood luscious, elusive. The poem as the locked room.
37 posts
What Can Life Offer Anyway
What can life offer anyway
That I can't have with you in death?
What feels more like home anyway
Than it does besides your grave?
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More Posts from Unlikelyanonymous
Tw: self harm
Autumn still
The spring air is filled with laughter and serenity.
Not something to be tainted with my goddamn tragedy.
But I am alone and my wrist is bleeding.
Despair surrounds me like death to the grieving.
I don't know peace; I perhaps never will.
For my disconsolate existence it is autumn still.
Pic via pinterest
And I wonder
Your voice so sweet through a telephone.
Your presence is a comfort, oh it feels like home.
Dancing on your roof while it's raining above.
And i wonder if you feel it grow.
Your touch like velvet, would I ever refrain?
Honey brown eyes, oh they drive me insane.
A nasty chase and we meet again.
And I wonder if you'd like to stay.
Your skin shines bright like an afterglow.
Your laugh's a symphony, oh I wish I could own.
Your love is a cure, I'm a ruined soul.
And I wonder if you'll ever know.
Thorn to my rose
Pic via pinterest
In a room full of strangers, our eyes met in secrecy.
With that striking smile of yours, you simply just ended me.
Gently whispered words killed me more than any poison could.
Loved you way too fondly than any lover ever should.
In frightened voice and shaky hands, I was scared to lose you.
In granted lives and afterlife, I was never meant to have you.
What is life anymore, if not just the absence of you?
Had to watch you bleed to death, what is even left to lose?
Once again in life I am terrified to let you close.
You were my known ruin. A lethal thorn, my gentle rose.
Him
He was butterflies.
He was anxiety.
He was silent cries.
He was that feeling of empty.
He was reliance.
He was trouble.
He was treacherous.
He was loyal.
He was steady.
He was unstable.
He was needy.
He was unpredictable.
He was my almost lover.
He was a goddamn nightmare.
He was a million little emotions.
Mixed into a disconsolate one.
What can life offer anyway
That I can't have with you in death?
What feels more like home anyway
Than it does besides your grave?