she’s sweet like wasabi
and wicked like cinnamon.
she sleeps alone and she lives alone,
but she has the trees and the dirt and the birds,
so she isn’t really alone.
there’s ivy vining its way up her legs,
and cobwebs collecting around her chest,
but she holds hope like an amulet,
like someday someone will brush them away.
breathing isn't always easy for her
because she still carries the moon in her chest,
so she's got a heartbeat like a hex.
she’ll spider her way into your heart,
but before you know it she’ll disappear.
she’ll be here as long as she can,
but she’s dangerously human.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
she’s sweet like wasabi
and wicked like cinnamon.
she sleeps alone and she lives alone,
but she has the trees and the dirt and the birds,
so she isn’t really alone.
there’s ivy vining its way up her legs,
and cobwebs collecting around her chest,
but she holds hope like an amulet,
like someday someone will brush them away.
breathing isn't always easy for her
because she still carries the moon in her chest,
so she's got a heartbeat like a hex.
she’ll spider her way into your heart,
but before you know it she’ll disappear.
she’ll be here as long as she can,
but she’s dangerously human.
this is part of a longer poem but the rest isn't quite done
