Oh, when his knuckles turn red, He breathes heavy, I still stay, He loves me, he promised again, Mama, don’t you worry. Hand raised, His lips murmuring the sweet nothings, Fury burning his heart, Words lulling me to the oblivion, Oh mama, don’t you worry. Tender kisses, bruising grips, Blue eyes, skin a different shade, … Continue reading bruised.
Tag: marks
Romanticising.
Look at the being in the mirror for me. Stare into their starry eyes. Gaze deeply. Drown in the beautiful browns, greens and blues, with specks of black, gold and grey. You are a canvas, my beloved. Not a blank canvas. Look at the patches of different shades of skin. Look at the lighter waves. … Continue reading Romanticising.
The Scorned Persephone 