The Drive

Old like a cassette,
But i’m round like your ocean eyes.
Severed like halloween’s grim hunter,
But i’m alive like your reminiscing lies.
Sweet like candy too often eating,
But i’m pain like your enamel that’s wearing thin.

I’ll be your favorite cavity, a residue
Of how sweet turned into tart.
I’ll be your ocean’s pollution, reminding you
Of our love parties that were thrown by our reckless hearts.
I’ll be your favorite scar, the one you can’t help but look through,
Sadly knowing that with you, we’d never be able to restart.

A poet’s last notion, to express herself in lines,
Exacerbating her wretched, tired mind.
Swooning stepping stairs, to relocate themselves to june,
Before you went, before i slept, when all the moments came to soon.
You screamed, i wept and never did we stop,
To think of times when love was not, some puberty sex dance,
Of warriors named lust and envy, walking in aroused pants.

I say to you, young lover’s and young heirs of love, to not forget,
But ah, believe that love is pure, and lust is just a demon’s sillhouette.

Journal Comments

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