blood flows a deep purple through my veins
like rich red wine, a cry of pain
my head is dizzy with thoughts of you
take a second to consider what you put me through
my body's weak, my hands are numb
I may be naive but I'm not dumb
my breathe is sweet, the hour late
I'm left with longing for one last taste
but my glass is empty and so is my soul
I want to stop it but it's beyond my control
Published by Mandy Kaye
Looks to me like we've got a classic case of...writer's block! View profile
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3 Comments
Post a CommentI'll forever be sorry. Cold months equal cold hearts. As Charity is now fond of screaming... "Idiot!"
Very good. I'd like the chance to chat a bit... e-mail me at homelesspoet@hotmail.com
Nice poem! A bit depressing, but nice.