there's glass on the floor
and i can't tell whether
it's from the cracked
crystal ball of my mind
or from the anger
that festered from
small wounds.
there's glass on the floor
and it looks like a
lightbulb's avalanche
after the span
of usefulness
has run out.
there's glass on the floor
whose teeth continue
to glint at me, thirsty,
as desperate for red wine
to drink away and
to forget.
there's glass on the floor
and its all around me
and my possessions
waiting for pin-drop
silence to rain.
YOU ARE READING
Silence in the Walls
PoetryThis is for those who lost or found their voices. This is for those who could and could not breathe. This is for anyone who is stuck or escaped the dismal abyss of all-consuming emptiness. This is a reminder; a representation of the hardships we co...
