these fingers,
your decayed bones.
these nightmares,
your dying face.
these despaired remembrances of daylight ballads,
your hand, the pen out of ink.
these scars,
these blades,
this ruined flesh.
A promise once made,
to kiss you at midnight,
beneath a solar eclipse.
Instead, I lay here,
gripping your fleshless body,
imagining you are the sky,
The multitude of dancing stars,
the moon stealing the sun
in a heated, begging
act of sworn devotion.
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 12:40 AM UTC
these fingers,
your decayed bones.
these nightmares,
your dying face.
these despaired remembrances of daylight ballads,
your hand, the pen out of ink.
these scars,
these blades,
this ruined flesh.
A promise once made,
to kiss you at midnight,
beneath a solar eclipse.
Instead, I lay here,
gripping your fleshless body,
imagining you are the sky,
The multitude of dancing stars,
the moon stealing the sun
in a heated, begging
act of sworn devotion.
