Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Patricia Ireland Jan 2017
I want to infect your brain like a disease
Let me gently dismantle you in darkness, I promise not to be a tease

- A fleeting flame from a match -
Watch me blow the smoke from the bowl you packed
I'll love you if the sun shines bright, and even more in dim candle-light

When I leave my house, I have trouble stopping myself from getting lost in the clouds

So don't leave my room:
if you open that door to the hall;
I hope you trip from cold feet,
and fall down on iced-over concrete

Visions of you make me gasp for air:
like a child knocked out of breath

I thought you knew that when you're gone, I spend all day in bed, fantasizing my own death

Come cuddle up, sweetheart

stay,
I need some rest
I don't care for formatting poems correctly. if you don't like the way I write my poetry, don't read it. Individuality is still very much alive.

— The End —