24/09/2012 03:46


Will you be my muse?

And sway away like manikins in this pandemic?

Condense me in all purity,

For I am the dirt and the soil,

The weed pulled from the glorious garden of life.

You are the rose,

The beauty so admirable to sight;

A being almost blinding to the naked eye.

Too delicate to touch.

I feel like a focal,

A long aged promise of pricelessness.

What a shame I have become,

Such a fragile broken thing,

My misery has no expiry date…

So this one’s gunna sting.