She is the Blister that i love
The Poet
I'm just a poet, theirs no denying it. The verses come to me and spill from my brain. Drooling these words onto the page. I close my eyes and see her detained. It's more than my understanding can battle to explain. Even in my sleep I can't find rest. I don't understand and like always, im ready to object. I don't need a mirror to see what my heart reflects. Theirs no majesty in this. King of a proud, uncertain, broken couch throne. Im only skin, flesh muscle and bone. I think of me, I think of you. What is all of this. Your beautiful, strange things distract and attract me. I like you, who are you. Am I the shadow, the silhouette, the thorn in your side? Ill show you all of me, theirs no shame in what I don't hide.
The early mornings
Seem like late nights
But it really doesn't matter much anymore
The clock is racing
With no determined deadline
For some reason,
I couldn't care less
At this point
I can't get your face out of my mind
Steam rises off of the this thick black coffee,
As I poor it over ice
Keeping myself awake
Wondering how you taste
Keeping away from myself
In the presence of surreal moments
Infatuated
By your pierced flesh
Touching your face,
Did it really happen?
You're truly different
Confusion falls into this fascination
You decorate yourself
To flip the inside out
Won't you teach me
So keenly
Whatever it is you've been trying to talk about
Are you really so mesmerizing?
Or is it only my imagination playing tricks on me again
I only want to hear your voice
To calm all of my screams of distaste
Right now I could ask myself
Who I am
Who you are
You're too...
Beautiful
You're not real
I can't wait to talk to you
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