She stands beside me in times of madness;
When I feel as though the light
Bleaches my eyes.
Her hands trace my body as it is,
Slicing through the disfigurements
That my mind has conjured.
How strange it is,
That she should be the light
To my darkness,
And yet the one who casts a shadow
For me to stand in
When the light begins to burn my skin.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
