Melancholic mood consumes me,
leaves burn marks in the asphalt
I’d rather not be walking on,
presses into my lips
lacking the will to leak blood.
The river you walked on
is in sight and though it makes
no claim to resemble your face,
that’s all it’s fit to show…
You’re a writer or an artist and how do you get someone’s attention
like pick-up lines, “I noticed the sun’s rays flickering in your splendid blue eyes and tell me, who God really is?”
or tell a woman how her moods are as fluctuating as the four seasons, but with each comes it’s own splendor and fruit?
so stupid. how do I even compare thee to a summer’s day? I mean, I want silence. so I can silently just look, admire, and tell you how wonderful you are.