Jun 2020
Upon the withered
there was a tree,
up high above.
Let me feel your love.
As I tie this rope,
an art. Around your body.
Where many have hung.
Let me feel your love
as i choke from up above.
Hung by my own feet.
This is what its called.
A slow death is my blessing.
Your love feels like bliss.
there was a tree,
up high above.
Let me feel your love.
As I tie this rope,
an art. Around your body.
Where many have hung.
Let me feel your love
as i choke from up above.
Hung by my own feet.
This is what its called.
A slow death is my blessing.
Your love feels like bliss.
Some of these poems have no titles. Also as per usual, the images have no reference to the poems, any relation is creation of your own design. They're old poems I found from high school - college. They're mostly terrible but I don't like keeping the old papers. So.. here.
