A Letter in the Mailbox
⋆ ˚｡ ︶⭑ ꒷꒦︶ ⋆ ⁺₊
I can't imagine those days.
More like a dark place,
Surrounded by heavy blue,
Of all consorts, it is always you.
Run away if you want to see—
Red flashes and burning castles of wannabe,
Yet, there's no reason to be happy.
For the sake of my own, I drowned completely.
Own me, as a tattoo on your lips,
Relay those messages, more parties to skip,
Wistful echoes, broken wings, I'll never fly,
How to compose elegies without a sigh?
A mistake; it was bold and illicit.
The fiery realms, I paid no visit,
I don't want to be the end of every story.
Dress as we'll dance again, shall we?
Indeed, I've hated myself,
Don't pretend, starry eyes, I can't help,
Up in the clouds, amidst the surge,
Lost smile, waiting to emerge,
At the last train, no more guests,
No more burning castles, two or less.
YOU ARE READING
Cornelia Street
PoetryThrough sonnets inspired by Shakespeare, I finally reveal the intimate secrets I've kept hidden for so long, even though I'm afraid no one will hear them. They capture the anguish of unspoken emotions I've never been able to say out loud, hoping for...
