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The-Night-OwlPoems
You still have not released me Though it was many years ago Lips swollen from kissing Stuttered as hate began to grow Rusted hands pried open Salty twilight spotted cracks And yet you still flicker warmly Above my chipping eyelid’s clotted wax A bump from a gentle stranger Sends me spinning from the train But those that beat me hollow I filter through my veins My hands scream for passion My heart for pulpy gore My legs tire from tensing But my mind still wants more It would prefer so mightily I danced overgrown with spines Pursuing eyes of Persian blue Golden hair, unleashed jungle vines It would rather have me wounded Bashed in until I bled Over and over again, no truce My mind, it wants me dead --Lily
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Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
My Mind, It Wants Me Dead
You still have not released me Though it was many years ago Lips swollen from kissing Stuttered as hate began to grow Rusted hands pried open Salty twilight spotted cracks And yet you still flicker warmly Above my chipping eyelid’s clotted wax A bump from a gentle stranger Sends me spinning from the train But those that beat me hollow I filter through my veins My hands scream for passion My heart for pulpy gore My legs tire from tensing But my mind still wants more It would prefer so mightily I danced overgrown with spines Pursuing eyes of Persian blue Golden hair, unleashed jungle vines It would rather have me wounded Bashed in until I bled Over and over again, no truce My mind, it wants me dead --Lily
The-Night-Owl
Written by
The-Night-Owl
American
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
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