you came through the doors of my soul like a strong blizzard,
whirling your way inside, your harsh and cold winds
breaking my grasp on reality tearing apart my sentiments,
one by one, like each page from a fragile book.
you stole my sanity like it was a lilly from a valley.
but see, you left. you left like a shaky,
summer breeze, just passing
by.
but see:
the passion in my love,
was the only sickness
that you could not cure.
but darling, that sickness
broke down every living fibre
within me.
poisoned the blood
in every vein to my heart.
slowly, softly, quietly killing me.
YOU ARE READING
quarter past three
Poetryyou were a memory of a boy that I never knew. or rather, a stranger in my phone book that I acted like I knew. and so it all began at quarter past three. credit to Arctic monkeys. [diary entries of Luna Amato]
