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Poem

This piece I write is forged in the presence of candle light
To show the urgency i have to breathe my confessions to the love of my youth,
So I light a stick of cyanide to relax and find the right words
Knowing I have herbs to detox the following morning,
After all, I already have a reputation for such
But today, they're is truth I wish to breath through the veil of anonymity
I find myself writing poems of her in my sleep,
And today my wrist has gone haphazard once more,
What if I was to say my love for Hera is greater than the Eiffel tower? And on this I'd bet my life
Place everything I hold dear on two odds.
This February I have ripped pieces of my heart to mend the scars waged by her passed lover,
And on some nights her lips taste like jack Daniels on rocks,
After a couple glasses I find myself stumbling to our first date,
The very first time my breathe left the room at the sight of this 5-foot promise to heaven,
What sorcery is this? One which she appears in my sleep yet speaks of free will,
Her voice is salvation and she is as beautiful as the rarest flower in the garden of Eden,
And if the sky was to come crushing down or our heads were slightly above water.... I'd swear to make a place tender for her heart in the after life.

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