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open sore pulsing like the sun
the imagry is rotten
           but the feeling
        behind is not.
that much I can promise.
you don't write how I write
     because you don't like
              what I'm like.
not happy?
   I taste myself on your tongue
you can't fake like I fake.
this has been penned in love
   every stroke that moves my hand
    the acid bright compulsion
  keeps it twitching.
©2006-2009 ~vagabondtrv
:iconvagabondtrv:

Author's Comments

eh.

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:iconblacktongue:
I forgot how much I enjoy your poetry. This is quotable material.
:iconvagabondtrv:
:) I'm glad you like it.

--
The Moon Hangs Like The Blade Of An Axe Tonight

Fr-ie-nd--s?
-Casie.

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May 3, 2006
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