If you cannot be a poet, then be a poem

Her fingers melt between mine

She turns my hands over

Reading my palms, she writes my future

She says that I could write amazing things

I close my eyes

Her fingers trace the burns on my arms

As the burn marks turn into flames

Tears of ash are cried

Ash from my burning love

Everything that I’ve worked for

Going up in our flames

We burn together until the end

It is the end

She’s sure of it

I would love you forever, she says

You especially

Tell me what you think

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: