Unsaid words
sting the most:
like salt and ice
on precious skin
burning till
the lights go out
the music starts,
the dance begins
And you’re left wondering
where you fit in.
Undone things;
they haunt the most
following you
through tunnel and cave
o’er hill and crag
and tripping you up
and forcing your head around:
Look back.
But the thing
that shocks
the very most
and yet seems
to make sense.
Is the fact
that still the world goes on:
Whether you’re alive
or dead.
YOU ARE READING
Parts of Me
PoetryWhenever you read one of my poems You hold a part of me, And it hides in my brain or beating heart Now I give it to thee. You may hold this precious Part For a while, at least. So treat it well, respect my thoughts, And there shall be a peace. For i...
