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write in the rain
ㅤㅤ
I can write in the rain, in the freezing cold, I can breathe life into my words as I bleed to death — but never hand me a pen as your gentle fingers graze my cheeks; I will cut my own two hands before ever tainting your holy soul, in the name of my cursed poetry.
If I were to be given a wish from the universe, I would pray for the ability to write with flowers in my mind, with love and adoration pouring out like sand from every line. I want to write for what heals me, for the hands that embraced my scars when the strom had all, but made an ugly home out of my insides. I want to pen down a plethora of books, just not for that one flame, for which my hands, had never stopped bleeding for.
For what sins of what life, am I paying for?
when the greatest curse to a poet,
is being unable to write...
I can write in the rain, in the freezing cold, I can breathe life into my words as I bleed to death — but never hand me a pen as your gentle fingers graze my cheeks; I will cut my own two hands before ever tainting your holy soul, in the name of my cursed poetry.
If I were to be given a wish from the universe, I would pray for the ability to write with flowers in my mind, with love and adoration pouring out like sand from every line. I want to write for what heals me, for the hands that embraced my scars when the strom had all, but made an ugly home out of my insides. I want to pen down a plethora of books, just not for that one flame, for which my hands, had never stopped bleeding for.
For what sins of what life, am I paying for?
when the greatest curse to a poet,
is being unable to write...
