your hands bend like twisted willow
on somber chains
my heart is mute and pale in presence
of your subtle anger
hidden
deeply rooted into
your beautiful eyes

I beg to go deeper

although I know the income
of my words will retalite
I know how they will scar
some crevice
and unknown part of me
yet to discover
dead
until you have awakened it
with that flesh on your face
that monstourus gaze

they will speak about me
say how I differ too much
how I speak to much of broken hearts
and sorrowfull songs
but I know to every real human heart
every one of my poems is but a childhood sing along