Damn your poetry; all those golden words
Which drip like venom from your subtle knife
The mirage painted now seems so absurd
Yet for its glory I’d have spent my life.
You held my hand, gently my throat did bleed,
While lips with softest kisses left their mark
Softly your mirage shimmered, matched my need,
Beautiful melodies were heard not callous barks.
But oh, were it just that you were from hell,
A succubus whose joy was in my fall,
For did I not invite you in as well,
Allowing your devotion to my call?
Such bitter sweetness in the blood which flows:
We both are bleeding in love’s dying throes.


Author: agw

Amateur poet and writer who aspires to write more... https://www.instagram.com/learningtolovethesilence/

Leave a Reply

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 )

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: