I know that song very well and it's taste
Shockingly so well that I feel unfortunate.
It opens prairies of a sealed scar and secret
Sadly bailed and badly shed in a shady past,
It resurrects cinemas of memoirs we once acted,
Selfishly to haunt me ever since ways we parted.
Please do stop it!
Oh, how I hate it!
Like thoughts I struggle to snap or sniffle,
It shuffles my bookish bondage for survival.
It ruffles my severed tattered pirated peace,
It snickers and sneers at my met murky mess.
Souvenirs of love assault me in sizable seizures.
The serendipity filled with juicy fruits of pleasures
Snubs all sectors to mend that ruined picture
You artfully tatooed in my vasculer cell texture.
I know such songs; rhythm, lyrics and all.
Thrills and drills of new found love they rekindle,
Warm sweetscents, hugs and secret kisses;
A wide woven web of fancy fixed promises
Defiant of the compassionate counsel of reason,
Dependent on the roaring blazing portion of passion.
I know that song regretfully intrinsically well.
Like a page plucked out of a plagiarised fairy tale,
My shelfed stale ego it tickles and needles,
My shackled nostalgia it rattles and fiddles.
It now sounds very long and sonorous.
I know it, that song, verses and chorus;
It starts with smiles and red roses,
It ends in soiled sadness and sighs.
Please I plead, do stop it!
How I hate it! Can I help it!
@Ⱥɓí ᗰαƦíα ȺღαƦꪊ
©abimaria
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