Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
peyton-leigh-stillePoems
The sterling stream that lines my sorrows is never within stone's throw. How many boulders away are you, my darling? I yearn for you to grind my heart once more. I need you to clip it's thoughtless wings, for they're drooping and defeated by their lasting migration. My heart is elephantine and my wings are hopeless and they're abusing all of me for what is believably my eternity.   My heart is dehydrated and cotton-mouthed, It's tongue can not satisfy, for it's fangs are before it, serrated by the bloodshed on our floor. I could water my floral heart, if someone put the watering-can in my hand, but it doesn't know how to tread tears anymore anyway. I am not satisfied. Nor, can I satisfy anymore. I'm simply coasting through shapes and figures to pass this paused time. I have become a clown that does not understand mortification any longer. It's feelings have become hidden under a white face and red lips. My tower of prospect has been thrown to the ground, landing where my body was planted, stuck asleep. They all say I deserve better. I've been searching for better, but it broke my wings and it broke my heart and planted me at my own crime scene ******** me.
0
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
Elephantine Heart
The sterling stream that lines my sorrows is never within stone's throw. How many boulders away are you, my darling? I yearn for you to grind my heart once more. I need you to clip it's thoughtless wings, for they're drooping and defeated by their lasting migration. My heart is elephantine and my wings are hopeless and they're abusing all of me for what is believably my eternity.   My heart is dehydrated and cotton-mouthed, It's tongue can not satisfy, for it's fangs are before it, serrated by the bloodshed on our floor. I could water my floral heart, if someone put the watering-can in my hand, but it doesn't know how to tread tears anymore anyway. I am not satisfied. Nor, can I satisfy anymore. I'm simply coasting through shapes and figures to pass this paused time. I have become a clown that does not understand mortification any longer. It's feelings have become hidden under a white face and red lips. My tower of prospect has been thrown to the ground, landing where my body was planted, stuck asleep. They all say I deserve better. I've been searching for better, but it broke my wings and it broke my heart and planted me at my own crime scene ******** me.
peyton-leigh-stille
Written by
peyton-leigh-stille
American
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem