the night filled my hollow soul.
of winds taking my breath,
of false hope,
of morbid dreams trying to wake me.
constellations broke and fell in the sky,
burning the path I once took
and pushing me somewhere
I haven't been.
i cried. there is no echo.
i am alone.
i hugged my shivering self.
tell me where to go.
i cannot do this.
guide me.
i do not know anything.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poetry[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
