There’s a bomb
In my pocket
In my brain
In my locket
It’s made
Of citron and pepper
To those who don’t ache
It might just hurt
Residues in her face
I see it burn
I see it grimace
I see disdain
Sometimes people like burning
Maybe they own
some bombs of their own
They can’t help but carry
Sometimes people hate citric
Maybe they haven’t ever
Ticked
They’re so used to sweet
But with you I see them burn
They don’t care to control
You don’t care
to dodge
Maybe there are antibodies
And you don’t feel the sting
When you just happen
To cry acid
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 12:53 PM UTC
Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
Do you like me because
I'm the only one who listens to you?
Do you like me because
I'm the only one that stays when you're sad?
Do you like me because
Only I won't judge what's inside your head?
Do you like me because
I will listen while you talk trash?
Or do you not like me
And "like me"
Just because I happen to be there?
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 6:47 AM UTC