Tell me what you want,
say it in whispers,
hot breath tingling skin
you touch with icy fingers
as if I can't feel those knives
you press in every crevice of me,
calling it passion.
Your lies are sweet velvet
against my ears but
smell like something rotting,
and I know that it is me.
YOU ARE READING
Love x Stitches
PoetryBetween the fairy tales and tragedies blooms love, best in the face of adversity to revive a purpose lost to jealousy, concealed by a trust of faithful blindness, and not always ending in happily ever after. [ : : : ] A collection of poetry...
