“You’re the sunset Van Gogh can’t paint and the lost thought Dali can’t see.
You’re the phenomenal novel Charles Bukowski can’t write and the fascinating poem Edgar Allan Poe couldn’t finish.
You’re the inspiration for the soul and the poison for the heart.
And then there’s me, the one who will paint you in every color on every piece of tissue, on every space in my flesh.
Then There’s me,the one who will always see you,no matter how deep and far you’re going to hide in my poisoned heart.
There’s me,t he one who will write and write again,the one who will finish every poem he has for you,just to write you another one,over and over again.
And darlin’,I know that you’re holding demons inside of you,
But They can come and burn in my living hell.”
You’re the phenomenal novel Charles Bukowski can’t write and the fascinating poem Edgar Allan Poe couldn’t finish.
You’re the inspiration for the soul and the poison for the heart.
And then there’s me, the one who will paint you in every color on every piece of tissue, on every space in my flesh.
Then There’s me,the one who will always see you,no matter how deep and far you’re going to hide in my poisoned heart.
There’s me,t he one who will write and write again,the one who will finish every poem he has for you,just to write you another one,over and over again.
And darlin’,I know that you’re holding demons inside of you,
But They can come and burn in my living hell.”
— Elias Younes
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