A dark room within, a couple of ravens,
The door cackling through this prison.
If I turn around and ask a question,
You would nod without it being given.
Lock your eyes in mine with Charles Dickens.
Eat me this way,
Melting bodies of fragile candles staring at our repetitions.
Love, when spilled from the tip of my tongue—
I don’t mean to express superstitions,
Nor the desire for fast verbal torture, nor the feast on women.
On a dark birch branch,
Just some divine creations—
Italian odor, or maybe perhaps French.
Dripping were the drops at your dress’ trench,
By the lake birthed by our whimsical tears.
Sit down, sit down,
Allow me to plant flowers on your ears.
Feel your loins on the ground that’s brown,
Bloody was I, index finger on your crown.
Silver arrow dipped in benediction and fire,
Let it, let it run through our flesh,
Connected with a mince of wire.
ABOUT
I’m a 17-year-old rock ‘n’ roll poet who was lingered near poetry and the arts at a young age by the coolest rock ‘n’ roll poets of all time, such as Patti Smith and Jim Morrison. My heart is made of stained-colored glass, and inside, I have nothing but love for the things life has to offer. My objectives in life are to work on the development of the countries of my mind, heart, and hands.
Moonbow Magazine 