I don’t need you to like my poems.
I need words to cut open your skin,
verse to rip through your caged heart
and, when all metaphors will disappear, ravens will wine and dine on your spine.
I don’t need you to like my poems.
I need words to cut open your skin,
verse to rip through your caged heart
and, when all metaphors will disappear, ravens will wine and dine on your spine.