Sober, my hell speaks
Random, my heart does.
It smells of fire, a mind whispers.
Jealousy? Nah, just a tear trailing.
The mouth swears,
Never trust my mind.
It smells of burning skin,
Indeed, it's been never mine.
She's pretty, I'm no less
But I'm no better
Than a murderin' mess,
Killing minds.
Wonders of breaking bones
Cries of broken limbs,
But yet, my love, you've not defined,
What I call 'jealousy'.
~:ZG:~
YOU ARE READING
Yin and Yang
Poetry"Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen." ― Leonardo da Vinci "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the...
