De langere binnendoorweg
I'm not trapped.
We're not trapped.
We've drawn a map,
with only ink that's bleeding through.
We know what to do
but no one is instructing.
No one has more than footprints.
Leaving one, after one, after one.
I'm done.
Let me kiss you until we're breathless.
I'd rather have my nerves function one more time,
than waste oxygen while waiting for a sign
to tell us we're fine.
We're good to go, but no.
For now you're mine.
Let me kiss you.
We know the ink is bleeding through.
Bleeding through and on our skin.
My heart is paper thin.
My brain is dying from within.
We don't know how long it's been,
in the dark.
Cling on to me.
Your warmth is addicting to me.
You won't hear me admitting
I need you.
Running further through
and underneath.
Surreal reality.
I'm only nobody,
like you're nobody.
I'm not your devotee.
I'm not trapped.
We're not trapped.
Let us run further
through
and underneath.
18:46 19/3/17
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YOU ARE READING
The Puppeteer's Playground
PoetryWhere the hands have taken over, the place we're calling home. Poems about what matters and what doesn't, to whoever and whatever. Poetry book ||| Cover by me
