It remains,
Right there in your throat
A lump ..that seems to grow
gnawing into your
Existence,
Freezing my blood,
As it shackles my heart
With its chilled fingers...
Smothering me breathless...
Bury me down
Into the deepest hollows of the earth,
Maybe I'd get some air.
Maybe I'd learn to sleep
Maybe darkness will do the trick
Maybe ... maybe...no more creepy colours to smudge my nights dirty .
poetry is my language to the world or may be to myself. Organizing my thoughts in verses is almost like a meditation, helping me to reflect upon life. They may be memories, may be thoughts, may be a vision, may be dreams, may be opinions, may even be worries, or some thing that I cant define. All in the form of poems.
Thursday, 24 January 2019
The shape of pain
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