My life
Poetry whispers in my ear.
Says come to me, come to me,
you know you want me.
Poetry, I feel like a whore.
Like a penny dropped to the bottom of a well that didn't even grant wishes.
I'm here holding onto the moon
like it's fucking tangible.
Like I can sip my tea with joy,
and brace myself from the cold,
walk the beach, the golden sands,
like I get it, like I feel it,
but I don't.
I don't get it.
Poetry, I'm only yours.
I'm only nothing and my hands are always cold.
I'm empty, but the good kind of empty.
Like unpacking a suitcase after a long absence from home.
This void, so delicious, so purging;
and off the suitcase goes to the back of the closet,
to the bottom of the well where I,
cheap penny, shine like a rockstar after fame.
Dull and used, I exhausted
my drug habit, my love song, my life.
Says come to me, come to me,
you know you want me.
Poetry, I feel like a whore.
Like a penny dropped to the bottom of a well that didn't even grant wishes.
I'm here holding onto the moon
like it's fucking tangible.
Like I can sip my tea with joy,
and brace myself from the cold,
walk the beach, the golden sands,
like I get it, like I feel it,
but I don't.
I don't get it.
Poetry, I'm only yours.
I'm only nothing and my hands are always cold.
I'm empty, but the good kind of empty.
Like unpacking a suitcase after a long absence from home.
This void, so delicious, so purging;
and off the suitcase goes to the back of the closet,
to the bottom of the well where I,
cheap penny, shine like a rockstar after fame.
Dull and used, I exhausted
my drug habit, my love song, my life.