She smiles, head near bursting, hides
the ache,
Forces laughter, as you speak of memories, not fake.
But when you depart, her pillow's her friend,
Hiding the soul's fractures, its tears never end.
Till the alarm sings and the new day begins,
She gathers her strength, the pain still within.
Behind her smile, a story untold,
In the quiet hours, her heartache unfolds.
YOU ARE READING
It's Still 12a.m.
ПоэзияAs the clock's final whisper embraced the dying day, darkness enveloped my room. Raindrops danced upon the fog-kissed windowpane. In the gentle glow of a dimmed lamp, I sat at my table, pen poised to capture the thoughts that flowed from the depths...
