Poison only tastes like poison until you’ve swallowed it

I recall my lover as a winter firefly forgetting its own silhouette,
Fed with stories of midsummer ivies and stinging wild thorns,
Of wildflowers blooming alongside the rainwashed sidewalks.
He carries a strangled ballad underneath his skin,
A broken tune drowning in its own grey skies
And the more I seek, the further it hides;
A piece of heaven tucked beneath the devil's artwork
A muse well suited for my quaint poetry.
I am often told that my poems seem lonely,
for I tend to write about a love beyond my reach
for I write about a love who chooses a pretty face over me in a heartbeat.
But don't we all fall as slaves in our own set of miseries
so in mine, I let art play my saviour.
My lover carries my heart in his hands,
I let him play with my heartbeat
while I watch him skillfully tangle my caffeine stained capillaries with his cold, slender fingers
And after as a set of unheared ugly cries and
a series of shallow breaths escape my lips-
I hear him weep with blood spattered hands
For he now realises that my words have only wished for a home for his broken ballad
everytime he went for a new face over me;
For he now knew that poison only tastes like poison until you've swallowed it.
Notify of
1 Comment
Oldest Most Voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
4 months ago