Enfant terrible.
I disown myself,
and try to follow my
occult intution.
Crossing the magnetic
field, I become neutral.
You will have to
collect my tears.
There will be no anniversary
of the funeral,
I will die imperfectly.
Failed to kiss the uninviting
throat of the knife. It
went straight into
my unread anthology.
Your smile will chase me
like a black spider. Its lethal
venom was painless.
Black and blue, if
I could perspire in the
freezing snow of the flames.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 9th, 2020 21:11
- Category: Nature
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses
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