All me
I wasn't burning up
from your touch.
I was the fire.
The source of
your madness.
The ' prick'
when you cut yourself
from stealing eden's roses.
That flicker of bright light
that could cook anyone
alive within
a snap of a finger.
That woods that
piled in one place
and the flame that
combusted and
turned everything
else to ashes.
No.
It was me who
made you like this.
Who made you burn up with excruciating heat.
Lusting after my touch.
Who plead over second chances
when there is
no reason to give
All me, baby.
Not the other way around.
Bucketlist 21: His world doesn't entirely exist for you. Move on.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Ms. Poetry
PoesíaRelatable Teenage poems about falling in love, hearbreak, embarrasing events, puberty and bucketlists to gain confidence and toughen enough to get out from the comfortzone A collection of 30 day bucketlist poems.
