He drowns in the ashes of his own existence,
He breathes the bitter charcoal imbued in gas
And only the flame of love could've ignited the wings of knowledge.
The colors of our merging were painting his new destiny
When he looked at the sky and didn't speak anymore;
He had his mouth sewn and his body tied with a thread of sound
And darkness feathers and the soul of us:
He sewed it himself with his necrotic hand
Because only in death we could've existed as a being.
I've tasted the abyss which trickled on his fingers,
But he couldn't resist it so he conquered the exil.
He fell in the univers, leaving behind a flaming arrow
To burn my sky and life, burying me in the ashes of a past love.
None but the thought left by you helps me find my hope,
Only the illusion of love still burns inside me with purple flames,
And my blood started to ignite our memory,
Covered by the fog of pain and happiness moans.
When black whispers fill my heart and soul,
His violet touch crushing my mellow bones,
Shaped and painted also by him,
Then just the yearning assails me and I remeber
....you'll be next to me, still in the hot sheets from last night.
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 10:19 AM UTC
He drowns in the ashes of his own existence,
He breathes the bitter charcoal imbued in gas
And only the flame of love could've ignited the wings of knowledge.
The colors of our merging were painting his new destiny
When he looked at the sky and didn't speak anymore;
He had his mouth sewn and his body tied with a thread of sound
And darkness feathers and the soul of us:
He sewed it himself with his necrotic hand
Because only in death we could've existed as a being.
I've tasted the abyss which trickled on his fingers,
But he couldn't resist it so he conquered the exil.
He fell in the univers, leaving behind a flaming arrow
To burn my sky and life, burying me in the ashes of a past love.
None but the thought left by you helps me find my hope,
Only the illusion of love still burns inside me with purple flames,
And my blood started to ignite our memory,
Covered by the fog of pain and happiness moans.
When black whispers fill my heart and soul,
His violet touch crushing my mellow bones,
Shaped and painted also by him,
Then just the yearning assails me and I remeber
....you'll be next to me, still in the hot sheets from last night.
Because you can actually die from a broken heart.
Request permission to use this poem