Mystery compels his curiosity,
and he's curious about everything like a child.
Revealing his ticking gears in a timely fashion.
He used to wear his passions and
his heart strung out on the sponge's sleeve,
But it only brought pain; deposition from grief
*So the gift I bereave to you from the ashes of the old me is someone honest and true, who takes chance's Pitfall into consideration. Scribing my words to you how a Phoenix sheds it's plumes. No more I love you's until I feel you saying I love you too.*
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
Mystery compels his curiosity,
and he's curious about everything like a child.
Revealing his ticking gears in a timely fashion.
He used to wear his passions and
his heart strung out on the sponge's sleeve,
But it only brought pain; deposition from grief
*So the gift I bereave to you from the ashes of the old me is someone honest and true, who takes chance's Pitfall into consideration. Scribing my words to you how a Phoenix sheds it's plumes. No more I love you's until I feel you saying I love you too.*
This poem is for those who felt vulnerable after giving too much of themselves away too quickly, only to find they've been taken advantage of once again.
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