Four corners is no Vindictive, just paranoia engulfing my treacherous thoughts to witnessing my every single heart beat strangle me to my last breath, I am no sceptic, even then I sit there weighing and contemplating, my sins with unbearable past, rotting and dissipating, near as close to my entity. Thinking if one last breath was saved for me, just to go back, not to to feel it again, but to make sure that I wouldn't feel it the first time, when he smiled at my way, they say to 'undo the past' when I did, to scream right into my ears, 'run, save your breath' Still my last breath, kept me still, all those days, old like the seasons, blossoms, and the rain, living in a monologue, raging war against my own solitude, to question myself from every single perspective I was familiar with.I almost lived everyday with a sharp pain within my chest, it constantly reminded me of the little things, it reminded me of the canvas my body was when the man who promised to paint me, who promise a soft gentle touch, and a forever, how brutally he was to paint body with the hues of purple and the blues, shouting, how worthy I was of it. I screamed, I screamed for help, longed for comfort, craved gentleness. But then now his shouts and my screams like a constant waves of thin air always lingers within these four walls to remind me of the sickness that was slowly killing me, reminding me of that one last breath, that saved my life, reminding me that my one last breath could've killed me that day.
YOU ARE READING
Short Poems
PuisiIt's all composed of my tears, smiles, fears, my dark days, my happy days and the days, and these poems are all that kept me together. Dedicated to those who left, and even those who stayed through out.
