beauty
trickles
from
cold,seething
wounds,
tickled
by
impetuous reveries
of
you.
my Muse,
spurned
and
usurped
by dreams unrequited,
left me
here
to dribble
besotted
drivel (to you).
words can be fickle
but the heart,
never so…
where now,
will this heart go?
theDeprevation 