Mattresses sewn with threads of dust
The toilet floor so drenched
Bed frames splinter, condemned to rust
We've found out sobs have a sweet stench
It's hard to feel like kings on thrones of tears
So we're empresses of gossip, rewoven lies
We're talking, because talking numbs the pain
And then we realise
Secrets ripple through thin walls
Walls of blood.
Ripple and flood.
Ripple and flood.
Flood and turn.
Flood and learn
Just how easily
Fires burn.
I'm leaving today.
So cliché—
Fingers in a socket
Lighter in my pocket.
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A/N: Lorde song above was somewhat of an inspiration.
Unfortunately you can't sing this poem to it.:(
YOU ARE READING
Anarchy
PoetryAnarchy. A swirl of topics: emotions, allusions to history, social issues... And somewhere in the maelstrom comes forth rhymes and prose. Note: If you can't be bothered to read all the poems (quite understandably), I've starred the better ones.
