He tells me his heart is black as is his soul
his reflection is dark and broody
when he writes the cold, dark thoughts
it is with purpose and unnaturally moody
his face tells a story all of its own
scarred and beautiful at the same time
he cares about nothing, no joy to be found
still I love him so, though he'll never be mine
he always wears black on the outside too
lives and writes, waiting for the end
nothing excites him, cynicism his refrain
and he swears the devil is his only friend
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could be me,
I own darkness,
love the waves
and turned the neon bible
back in shadows
killea: could be, but is it?
black is my lifecolour.. X
killea: Thank you angelface
Reminds me of Johnny Cash...
Beautiful poem June, I like it very much though I don't like black.
killea: thank you sweetheart
killea: thank you, Kerry
Very good enzovoort
killea: thank you, Noel
I'm going to take a look, you made me curious.
killea: thank you anne
Heel herkenbaar inderdaad.Ik mag die gast wel.Het kon ik zijn.
Heel graag gelezen.
killea: Yes, it was written with you in mind