they knock three times
and they call for me in long sweet lines
i grab the knob but whispers in my ears made me hesitate and think
are they worthy to let them in?
letting their first foot steps leave on the mat that i dont have a clue
if they will mark and leave clean or dirty stained prints
nerved to let the ghost of my past haunt,
and wound my scars again and leave me in scattered parts,
convinced not to let this butterfly effect action done
i just let them pass and knock
on other's door, not allowing my fragile room
to be ruined again by their crafted doom
YOU ARE READING
Letters from the Blued Underground
PoetryRaw compilation of emotions and experiences by a young man that were not often expressed by his tongue but only written in the secret chambers of his heart.
