Kaye I May 25
meadow filled whiskey eyes
reeks toxicity of one's demise
traces of its gaze was shattered and tainted
nights spent on heart-bled ink was awfully raided

gloom-tinted lips by midnight howls
whispered hymns of agony the mind fought to allow
disguised in empty phrases of flowers in joyful hues
choked pass the lumps grown by unfaithful blues

star-sculpted hands was forbidden to touch its moon
like tides distorting balance, leading one to its doom
deprived of contact it was glazed to numbness
by knife-like tears, scarring itself by infectious recklessness

she's a flower grown in her deathbed
inhaling art; releasing toxic without dread
a tragedy disguised in handpicked shade of yellow
roughly sculpted by life but in his heart she remained mellow
Kaye I May 25
a wolf cries under the moon's dying breath
he bleeds for his muse; art lost, enticed by regret
midst the bending of light, a rueful half-smile lingers
memories of their love-lost, felt like salt on splintered fingers

the flowers that grew in their hearts withered as fast as they bloomed
by ice-thawing promises that led to their doom
shooting stars were wasted on bootless wishes
by a heart that refused to take the mind as a guest

cheeks engraved with downward railways was tinted in black and blue
the soul's oasis was awfully shed for one hue;
a shade that had been washed out, like an acid-dipped thread
a love once vibrant; turned dull by uncertainty's dread

the wolf cried under the moon's dying breath
he lost his muse before the sun could take its nest
the tears were a residue of his nightmare's banquet
a horrifying dream under the torrid glow of his darkest secret
Kaye I Mar 19
he's an abyss
and until now,
I'm still falling.
Kaye I Nov 2017
she's a song
you'll never hear
because you never listened.

— The End —