What secrets do you hold beneath your flesh?
Between your folds,
What truths are caged to your teeth.
I bet your tongue reeks,
The stench of all the words that died there,
Staining your cheeks.
What makes your eyes go dull?
How many times have you cried at nights,
What is your vice?
What do you fear most,
How many times has your thoughts become lead,
So heavy that you bleed on blank canvases,
On pages.
Creating pieces that'll haunt you for ages.
What about your chambers?
What is hidden beneath your ribs,
What makes your veins bubble,
What gives you life,
Light...
What makes your chest cave in on itself.
What steals the air from your lungs.
What makes you die while you're alive.
It must seem peculiar.
That these are the things I want to know about you.
That the twisted parts of you,
Are the pieces I want to see.
You are no paradise baby.
And neither am I.
All we have to offer,
Are our broken stanzas
Filled with,
Blurry dreams we don't think we can achieve.
Trying to teach each other how to breathe,
How to swim against the current.
How to fake live.
Baby we aren't perfect.
We're as damaged as it gets.
But I promise I'll make it worth your time.
Take my hand.
I'll show you the dirty parts of me,
Whisper on your skin the secrets I keep.
All you have to do is say yes.
YOU ARE READING
EPIPHANY
Poetry"I'm desperately trying to heal myself." •. •. •. •. •. I strongly believe art isn't supposed to be pretty, or liked and understood by the masses. Art is supposed to make you unco...
