Posts tagged poem
Intoxicated;
The emptiness inside you,
Still seeks affection.
My body is a dead language and you pronounce each word perfectly.
Sierra DeMulder
I remember reading this for the first time the day before my grandfather passed. It’s something he would’ve said had he had the chance.
Gorgeous.
Sylvia Plath was one disturbed soul. Undeniably talented though, much like Poe.
Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, and live by love though the stars walk backward.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
like my balls.
Sheer Poetry
Roses are red,
Gold is gold.
Get on your knees,
And do as you’re told.
