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I'm terrified
Of what I write,
More terrified than when I weaved the sky
From the embers of my scars.
Every word makes me dread,
That all of this
Will get stuck in a veil no widow will shed.
And if it's all futile? I will go down with this;
I cannot forsake my sobriety from
Breaking anymore.
Entwined to nets of constellations,
I'll write with a quill adorned by stars
Until their heat turns my shell to clinkers.
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Last poem of this year from my side! How was this year for you guys? How ever it was, I hope 2022 treats you all better. I send lots of hugs.
Oh, and cheers to all of us for getting through 2021. We deserve it *raises a glass*
:) <3
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YOU ARE READING
And the Petals Fall
Poetry❃ From one of the flowers in my infinite garden, I present to you a caricature of its petals. ❃
