Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
When high isn't high enough,
where do we stop?
Every slippery ***** has got a drop.
And when you feel it run,
Through your blood,
Spill the drink
And listen to
her pretty heart sink and thud.
Puffing out
some ***** air
to clean
this mindful lair
where I hide
what I don't share.
I wonder what it's like,
looking like a shiny light,
sputtering in the night
giving off vibes
to attract a sight.
A Morse dress code,
apropos
those hidden messages
we never showed.
You know,
I know this language,
a magic trick
to take advantage.
We locked eyes
and our words bred,
we fell for their tricks
and so we bled
all the words out
and then
forgot all we ever said.
We don't know what love is.
A big deep breathe or pop fizz?
True this time or fake watches?
We don't know what true love is.

— The End —