it's his melancholic eyes
that bellowed at the frail disguise
looking at his own demise,
this girl with a tragic surprise:
with weary eyes and
fragile bones, an
insurmountable
power i still hold,
oh...
to slowly
d e s t r o y
you
with
what you have
and
what i don't;
the clock-
-ticking
the days-
-passing
the nights-
-dancing
your heart-
-beating
a voice, barely a whisper;
a withered mouth let it linger
a hope that's about to perish;
a love, you and i still cherish
my soul is slipping
away from my body;
my bones cracking,
snapping, breaking;
my heart holds on
up your weary sleeve.
but you are not
my graveyard,
a place to rest
my fatigued body.
you are not
my graveyard,
a place to count
my spent days.
you are not
my graveyard,
a place to see stars
from your eyes.
you are not
my graveyard,
my death shouldn't
be in your arms.
you are not my graveyard.
YOU ARE READING
Breaths
Poetry❝ everything inside of me is living in your heartbeat. ❞ © nate k. 2015
