let me be the artist today.
i want to paint you a picture with pastels in so many shades
bleeding the constellations of my thoughts.
an endless spectrum of interwoven blends.
magenta, emerald, violet, fiery orange, dusty blue, ivory .. you name it.
gentle strokes but violently passionate,
a thrill similar to writing in a journal.
only this time, you`re immortalized in canvas.
she is a sublime composition you`ll find wandering the shadows in the museum of his exclusive heart.
my desire for you ran deeper than what meets the eye
and i adored pulling your heartstrings with precious grip.
until, without warning, you built up those walls and turned back into a chamber.
your lack of reciprocation left me jaded.
i’ll never win with you. we know this.
sorry if i got too close.
i’m trying my best to save myself from your depths
and exist in my own skin
but i’m weighed down.
you make me feel like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web.
you had me stuck like a butterfly in a spider`s web; something i could`nt decode. i was nothing but a fool for you.
if only you could see how beautiful you are on the inside. darling, you’d shed skin of all your worry.
i’ve always wondered how it must feel to dance the dark side of your moon.
he was an immortal wildfire and he burned his imprint in her soul with pleasure. she was damned.
poetry is not all effervescent, butterflies, walks in the park, or heart throbs. every so often, those heart throbs are from insomnia inviting itself in at 3am and you`re leaking your heart onto vacant paper, silent screams no one can hear. butterflies in the pit of your stomach are burned to ashes and you can feel nothing but pain on the grip of your pen. sometimes, those walks in the park are not scorching suns nor the moonlight kind. but all emotions attacking you at once, enclosing your chest and suddenly lost in your own world with no escape, walking down a spiral path of self-contradictions.
kali.m 