november you did me well
or whatever people like to call it
spain or bust
i like to think that it wasn't just a fling
maybe it meant something
but just for that moment
i felt special
necessary for an existence
air to your lungs
tattoes on a ****
dog hair on a rug
but as your eyes glaze away
i know the end is near
i give you all i have
expecting the worst
another one lost
another one found
you're just a product of your environment
a feeble boy unsure of the publics reaction
provoking a girl to write a **** poem
Your father hates my accent.
I think he's only trying my patience.
Your mother hates my tattoes.
But she's just like your father too.
Your brother and sisters are turning me down.
Your friends don't know for you miles i will run.
They can not feel this kiss, this touch.
Empty spaces i have been through to show you i love you so much.
I killed someone but you have killed me.
You're turning me into a different person.
You see the man in me.
We're sailing towards a new horizon.
Rest your heart on mine.
I am not making love to your father.
I am not kissing your mother.
I am not touching your brothers and sisters.
I am the prince of darkness...
I am a criminal...
I am a murderer...
Whatever i am before them...
I cast your sadness into shadow...
I **** your pain and sorrow...
Náaht tu finnúnf aro'd.....
They say all sad people write
I am a writer though not sad.
You are my happy thought,
I write poem after poem just by thinking of you.
Only that I wasn't writing them on papers,
I make them tattoes of my heart.
— The End —