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 your skin
that monstourus gaze

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