The disgust is intricating scars on flesh,
the crochet pools as the regret pierced afresh.
They condemn paramour,
since crown is the only handsome amore.
The failure crawls up burning the trail,
never being enough while watering prevail.
Don't exhaust it on me,
for I don't deserve to forfeit my darkness.
Disappointment and rejection is all it could ever harness.
An insignificant fevourish glee,
that's a show for all I agree.
If the moonlight ever turns silvers,
tell them how it were desired throughout the war.
Yet now here remains the corpses of the knights who couldn't reach afar.


© bhavya_sheisvintage