deepundergroundpoetry.com

Real?

Is this even real
with her stepping over me �
in midnight black boots �
strapped way up high �
like a ballerina trapped inside �
rough edges cutting through �
my hardened skin �
engulfed in whirlwind �
with a promise of sin �

back alleys, all night caberet
smoke drifting in the allure �
of her eyes �
calling out for confession �
�
boy do I wish to confess �
�
I see through it all �
or what it pretends to be �
living only for a fleeting moment �
if only this wasn't make believe �
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