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She laid on her bed in rumination
Glaring at her lunatic, invisible reflection
Her head ringing with madness
As her real self stood a witness
On the left, a silver dagger stared at her with yearning
On the right, a crow quill peered with a gaze so striking
Her brown eyes shifted in confusion,
Asking her throbbing mind-
"a ballad or a contusion?"
The white pages threatened to fly in the chamber,
But the soft cloth joyously stayed unlike the nervous papers
She drew the quill close to her side
But the blade proudly shone at the disconsolate sight
"Do you want floral words of black ink,
Or scarlet scars of a weakling?"
The reflection questioned her in anger.
She wondered if she could put down her letters of sadness
Or must there be drops of blood dripping into darkness
Because carving lines on wheatish skin
Could hurt just as much the twisted words written with pristine
The callous hands got hold of both the handle and the tip
Silence and shadows gloomed over her cracked lips
"It is always a toss of dime for this broken imbecile,
Every time, I urge her to be more sensible!"
The pen faded away alone in the abyss,
As she pushed away the quill and prepared herself for the bruises.
-Grisha. S
YOU ARE READING
DROPS OF SCARLET
PoetryFeatured on @WattpadPoetry reading list 'Stygian Skies' "I dream as a soulless spirit where the only music I hear is the drops of scarlet" This poetry collection follows the tales of three women lost in the past and objects they surround themselves...
