I am melting gold on my papers.
I’m wandering trough words of honey
to spread them on your soul,
just to make it a little more sweet.
There is an explosion of light
running trough a field of breadcrumbs
from my crumpled,
but rich like blood red jam
imagination.
I write my sins with candy canes
sugarcoating them
‘cause I am only afraid
you won’t remember my good
but you will never forget my bad.
There is only hope,
hanging from a rope
and, of course,
love,
who’s silently dripping from my heart,
oh, my heart,
my only enemy
destroying me,
turning my whole lighthearted existence
into a heavy tar abyss.
not only does it hurt,
but it also tastes bitter.
like coffee during golden hours,
hot and black,
but, oh so good
and so relieving,
it becomes my essence,
my blood.
So I return to honey and candy canes
and hide behind my fingers
and behind my lying eyes.
But I reveal myself at night,
being at my true self,
a sinner,
a liar,
a poet.
-May Colde
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 10:53 AM UTC
I am melting gold on my papers.
I’m wandering trough words of honey
to spread them on your soul,
just to make it a little more sweet.
There is an explosion of light
running trough a field of breadcrumbs
from my crumpled,
but rich like blood red jam
imagination.
I write my sins with candy canes
sugarcoating them
‘cause I am only afraid
you won’t remember my good
but you will never forget my bad.
There is only hope,
hanging from a rope
and, of course,
love,
who’s silently dripping from my heart,
oh, my heart,
my only enemy
destroying me,
turning my whole lighthearted existence
into a heavy tar abyss.
not only does it hurt,
but it also tastes bitter.
like coffee during golden hours,
hot and black,
but, oh so good
and so relieving,
it becomes my essence,
my blood.
So I return to honey and candy canes
and hide behind my fingers
and behind my lying eyes.
But I reveal myself at night,
being at my true self,
a sinner,
a liar,
a poet.
-May Colde
