And I've accidentally nicked myself today.
The sting is soft, as day is as night.
The contrast is new, the skin frays
Like the curtains that burn in the light.
The tears well up, but not of pain.
It's dumb, as the onions waft,
Waltz gently, the blurs a stain
As the number continues aloft.
There's a tiny sliver of red
Heavily drunk under the influence
Of gravity, which spins my head
As it forms a jagged confluence-
It's darker than I thought.
Runs thicker than the water
From which it is wrought,
Marking tissue, a jotter
Of empty promises, leaves
Shiny blood ties, tastes
Of metal, it weaves
Into cracks with haste
And all it would take
Is for my skin to fall
Apart or to flake-
It is my only wall.
YOU ARE READING
Silence in the Walls
PoesíaThis 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...
