my demons
are flower beds,
the tint of orchids,
handmade safety,
and homely eyes for children
these thorns are growing
into ores, into mines, into lands
somebody is resting their head
on a metal fence again
If I held moon's face,
we'd become one matter
her laugh
is crumbling backwards and I
had promised to take her
my demons are light
dragging indigo scars in sight
my demons are stories
written on
unclaimed kites
they are burning
beneath my tongue
to melt every little line
my demons sit like folklore lovers
and weave the night
DU LIEST GERADE
The Language of Rain
Poesie[TW :- CRINGE] Here, burns the bonfire of my heart. this is a random collection of poems and thoughts.
