In this world,
filled with
infinite flowers.
In this ocean,
filled with
infinite pearls.
In this house,
filled with
welcoming warmth.
We sometimes,
feel like we're
angels in heaven.
But in reality,
the flowers
were all toxic,
the pearls
were all fake
and
there lies
dormant cold
in the deceptive
warmth that we call home.
Sometimes we forget,
that we have
to kill our way to heaven.
Sometimes we forget,
that we're angels
stuck in hell filled with demons.
YOU ARE READING
Moon Child | Ongoing
Poetry"Home isn't always four walls. Sometimes it's one warm embrace And two people's heartbeats as one. " - Moon Child (StarHues) Collection of poems mostly tackling about falling in love with someone out of your reach. Musings about the pain of unrequit...
