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Pretty little things Soft like heather on wings Shifting ever so slightly Hips sashay in the wind Begging you to come in
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
How absurd What a novel idea To think that your idea can’t be both What poetic injustice To think we can’t do both What kind of host
Water conforms to the vessel Contracted It expands to fill every crevice It opens itself to the vessel Over time They wear into each other
Sometimes you have to leave right away So the house gets left in disarray You do you’re best to repair it on the fly As you try to keep the wings level
We’d rather enjoy our prison of pain Than risk the freedom of love Because we know what the cell feels like Rather than the warmth of their arms
I’m far more messed up Than I thought Forever bled Of any “normal” thought Against them all I have fought I don’t know what you want
Hemorrhaging hypocrisy Of one way conversations You’re judging me When all I see is beauty How are you supposed to see me
It’s the end of the day Take me to the house of cards Take to where the bards play Take me out to the yard Where we can be merry
The sunrise will never know its beauty For it is too far No matter how much we shout The clouds will never know how soft they are
Many of us do not know what we want in the moment until it passes Drowned in life’s vastness So take all of your chances
Enter the bubble of the time witch Watch as your mind drifts into a ditch Here there are no watches Just swatches of protruding pasts
Smoke and mirrors Are all that hide my fears You want in But little do you know I’ve given you more of an inside look Than most have ever taken
