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My Closet


Vise the tips of your fingers around the cavity of my chest.

Feel the rhythmic imbalance of your touch.

The seams of my actions altered by the stitching of your persuasion,

The sketch of you needs became my actions,

You designed my being to your vision

Follow me into my closet to see the tags and ratters of your persuasive touch.

You rippled the originality of my wear,

And shredded my existence into ashes.

I wore your control out of love

But I've only learned how to hate myself.

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matthias15

Poetry is an art form and has always been a way for me to talk my problems out and tell my emotions on paper.

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