His love is unconditional.
His love is deep.
His love is red.
Your love is younger for older.
The darker the berry the sweeter the juice.
The prettier the woman the easier to misuse .
You are the buckle that holds my body into safety. Flexible with my movement but could snap my neck in the jolt of the second. The pressure of the airbag being the pressure of this world shattering my skull into tiny undetectable pieces. You being the safety that I feel comfort in which relied on.
Close your eyes for a second and picture me.
His love consumes me.
Purple is my favorite color because with my melanin it is beautifully displayed across my body.
His love is shutter island.
His love is six dislocated jaws in the form of B I T C H.
Three Hundred thin slices across my leg.
His love is dead.
Four bruised ribs in the form of Ali.
I wanna fly like a butterfly.
His love stings like a bee.
Two bottles of NyQuil.
One Hundred pills.
His love is a fancy restaurant.
My love is excuse me I have to go to the bathroom.
Seven blows to the face.
One choked up date.
His love is unconditional.
His love is deep.
His love is red.
His love is a house on a hill with the perfect baby boy, his love is a huge home with no joy. A backyard with maybe a lake and a boat. His love is champagne with no toast.
You are my letter to death, and this is it. Thank you for your unconditional love I felt not one bit. There’s a lady knocking on the stall door and my breath is getting shorter. Trying to hurry up and get back to her seat so she can place her order. Her party is waiting and it is a celebration to see. His love that killed me.
His love is unconditional.
His love is deep.
His love is red.
Queen Media Collective 