Oh, blindness beauty — the cruelty of words unsaid, a prickly briar
whispering _love in decline._ My card has been swiped twice;
stolen from me are the dreams I charged on hope, and no point
of sale could measure the worth of my soul.
Oh, soul — how I wear sad forget-me-nots. My necktie is a tangle of
knots, and I remember the vine from which every part of me was
cut and shaped for loving someone. I will bear this crown of shame
until I read perfected _loveliness,_ but how shameful that love is
also a place of great loneliness.
For wrapped around me is a honeysuckle — the kiss of a bee, sweet
enough to forget the sting. And what was meant to guard my heart
is also what threatens to **** me. I offered devotion with open palms,
sprinting as a chasing heart across the miles of love’s marathon.
I was breathless not because the chase was done but because I
never caught what I was running toward.
My eyes still run, chasing the taste of a pleasing sight; the palette
of my mind stays hungry, my heart confused about where to begin.
For in this kiss — what I hoped would last us years — was only
a few more seconds before we parted from our words.
For love is blind; we shut our eyes whenever we kiss. And truly
the first one to open them is the one who has already begun to
wonder whether this is worth it at all.
Love is a blind beauty —_is it not_?
Nov 14, 2025
Nov 14, 2025 at 8:32 AM UTC
Oh, blindness beauty — the cruelty of words unsaid, a prickly briar
whispering _love in decline._ My card has been swiped twice;
stolen from me are the dreams I charged on hope, and no point
of sale could measure the worth of my soul.
Oh, soul — how I wear sad forget-me-nots. My necktie is a tangle of
knots, and I remember the vine from which every part of me was
cut and shaped for loving someone. I will bear this crown of shame
until I read perfected _loveliness,_ but how shameful that love is
also a place of great loneliness.
For wrapped around me is a honeysuckle — the kiss of a bee, sweet
enough to forget the sting. And what was meant to guard my heart
is also what threatens to **** me. I offered devotion with open palms,
sprinting as a chasing heart across the miles of love’s marathon.
I was breathless not because the chase was done but because I
never caught what I was running toward.
My eyes still run, chasing the taste of a pleasing sight; the palette
of my mind stays hungry, my heart confused about where to begin.
For in this kiss — what I hoped would last us years — was only
a few more seconds before we parted from our words.
For love is blind; we shut our eyes whenever we kiss. And truly
the first one to open them is the one who has already begun to
wonder whether this is worth it at all.
Love is a blind beauty —_is it not_?
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