What is love? But a vulnerable sensation Twisting your stomach into a thousand knots That strangle the flock of birds, not delicate butterflies, That seem to be permanently residing within me If you are near. What is lust? But a thousand cuts Piercing a body That both aches for the antiseptic but dreads the stinging burn that awaits. Love and lust, deemed as opposites by society, Aren't as antagonistic in my Heart. Love isn't as pure, Nor innocent. It doesn't make us Invincible Nor Better. Lust is Harmful rather than Thirsty; Toxic Rather than passionate. Negative connotations are all there are To these feelings that otherwise sound like bliss. Because when your head and heart are a mess It sends your soul into distress.
As soon as you step out of your house, You are an ever-present smile Which, instead of lighting up the sky alone, Chooses to be a mere companion Of your chiseled made-up face, Caked with products to hide your Perfect imperfections That only you seem to notice. Prancing around in your best clothes Doesn't portray who you really are; But rather displays who you wish to be: Another one of the bunch without any Personality and style; Following trends like cookie cutters, Those which make delicious desserts of perfect appearance That, however, are somewhat homogeneous And therefore, Boring. Leading an army of people that Doesn't fight for you at the end of the day, Avidly greeting anyone with a familiar face, Although you might not even get on well, Just to get a feel of what being popular is, When all you really are is as fragile as reputation itself. You are like the two faced coins you use to pay for The night's liquid...
Comments
Post a Comment