Is it a myth? she asked, vomiting the chocolate I gave her, that expired three months ago. I'm glad it reached her.
In suffocation, I want you mine
Eat your head, stick your legs on walls and preserve your blood to my heart.
In my eyes, you are red in disguise of sweet melody, wearing my spoon on.
I want your arms on my body, eyes on my desk, lips hanging on clock, and fingers under my pillow– caressing my hair.
You’re not timeless, you held the last sound of alphabets and I bet you haven’t seen any strands of my hair.
You are short, out of line, obvious yet tasteful.
I crave you because mine was on someone else’s ball, played at somebody else’s place.
I am torn whether to give a shot for being heroic leech or by being a villainous vine. Either way, both are too safe to conquer.
All I am looking forward to is to climb at your tower and see you inside.
My sweet poison
But where the hell will I find the key?
Is there any door?
In which way is right next to you?
What time is my turn?
What time is your turn?
I want you to hear me, so I left your one in my pocket and one to your hands.
Listen.
I just want a kiss.