Lines of my favourite songs
loiter on my mind ,
Which leads to numb
my fingers from birthing poems ,
or the inkpot was ranout of grief.
Unnamed emotions were blended inside of me ,
Tearing down the magazine pages , and sticking it together.
It soothes the burnt wounds of me.
Gawking at the sticked pieces , sometimes it looks like me , or the lives I entered.
Pulling up their pieces ,
sticked them together with courage and turn themselves into gravestone of survival ,
but often misunderstood as art.
YOU ARE READING
Gravestones of survival.
Poetry~People often misunderstand my gravestones of survivals into piece of art.~ Random pieces of poetry.
