I want to rise up like a lion, strong like the king everyone wishes I could be. My roar is nothing more than a mewling cry, my bite futile and weak.
There’s a word for things like me, the potential wasted like food kept too long, and if I knew that word I’d hold it to my chest like a shard of glass to cut me when I forget who I am.
But when my hands squeeze, and the blood falls, splattered on the dusty coliseum floor, your hands are in my hair, voice in my ear.
If you’re lying it’s beautiful--you’re beautiful, and I’d much rather be yours than broken.
FILL: SWAG 2016
blood mention
I want to rise up like a lion,
strong like the king everyone wishes I could be.
My roar is nothing more than a mewling cry,
my bite futile and weak.
There’s a word for things like me,
the potential wasted like food kept too long,
and if I knew that word I’d hold it to my chest like a shard of glass
to cut me when I forget who I am.
But when my hands squeeze,
and the blood falls, splattered on the dusty coliseum floor,
your hands are in my hair, voice in my ear.
If you’re lying it’s beautiful--you’re
beautiful,
and I’d much rather be yours than broken.
I’ll purr for you until I can roar.