Haven't posted much for a while, mostly due to my extensive lurking. XD;;
But I decided a poem, or something should be posted!

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There are patterns on my cheeks,
Wrists are weighed down by those gypsy beads;
In the distance a drum beats,
His hands closed firmly around my waist;
Tonight I am safe from you,
Your words mean nothing in my new oblivion,
Pinpricks over my skin,
Before they fade away into nothingness;
I write only for her,
Her words could never fade,
Her eyes would never leave me;
Yours can.

A whirlwind he turns me in;
Flickers of a burning fire in the smog,
Painted dragons adorn the emerald walls,
Of this alien world of beauty;
Tonight I am free of you,
There was more in her words,
My sweet saviour,
Your all too innocent malice is dead to me,
Not a tear has spilled for you,
But for her I have layed drained and shuddering;
Angels hands led me over a rainbow;
Your colours were just many of the patterns,
That made my journey.

Unearthly chants jeer us on,
Circles of scarlet and ink,
Shuddering palms clasped tightly in our dance;
Bare feet soundless against the stone,
Only the bells at my ankles cry;
Tonight I will forget you,
And their voices take up that sound;
Your twisted world of hypocracy is dead,
You jumped our ship all too soon;
I'll remain in the sky with my only love,
The one who could never die,
Longing for her never drowned;
There is no sorrow in leaving you behind,
You were just another clown.

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

I really like it - the style is great

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<3
top banner by Coccinelle
I'll be back to visit, I promise!
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Thank you very much! ^^;; I'm glad you like the style, as I'm not even sure what to class it under, because nothing ryhms...so I usually just call it "open". XD'

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

I really enjoyed that! you should write more

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Thank you very much. ^^; I shall post some more soon!

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-