He loves me

He loves me, he loves me not,

picking flowers to feel the petals speak.

Mascara soaking eyes trying to perceive,

belief in what nature has for her heart.

No cards left to turn over she sits,

waiting in the shadows of fate.

Gothic love speaking painful meaning,

slicing through her hands covering her soul.

Backwards to peace her words speak nothing,

muttered silently singing heartbeat unfolds.

Buried alive in the tomb of her love,

expecting forever to start within his return.

White dreams painted black to become,

who she hides behind her makeup smeared.

Feet planted as her life shows its way,

killed by the only kiss she ever needed.

He loves me, he loves me not,

he loves you for I am right by your side.







Johnny Newell