I’d seen the beauty in those eyes,
The shifting of colors…
My green, your brown.
This is a poem, as dull as they can be.
An injection of pain killers in your spine,
Anachronisms,
Soft, morn ideas.
Worn, despicable thoughts, conspicuous words…
Forget it, this couldn’t be a cobra, not a rabbit, no butterflies… except for the ones in my stomach, trying their best to knock me down.
Love can be this close to sanity, or it’s exact opposite version.
I’m blossoming clouds beneath my hands,
And I left the ground for nearly a second.
This second made me twist my fingers, close my eyes shut and bounce… once, twice, the hell with it. I’m alive, right?
Pain’s back and this shitty poem ain’t dead yet.
It burns and it clings and it goes back and forth paradise. Twisting whatever it meets, my eyes, your pretty green and so many words on the way…
Maybe because I love each maddening second of thought spent in your behalf.
Days spent without you don’t seem like days at all.
