In the dark passageways,
These pathways that run through all minds,
A network that never reveals itself to the living,
There lie the dead.
These dead are the living,
The discarded parts isolated in darkness
While the living pay no heed
To the ever-growing hollow space within.
How can I see it?
So vividly, in sharp details,
And feel it as if it were my world?
Well, I've forged the living and the dead in me,
And they insist on the cacophony of silent screams.
Is there anyone who sees the parallel world?
Better yet, do they ever feel the urge
To bury themselves deep under its floorboards?
Am I the only one who yields to these dark roots,
What is so alluring about the burning, red sun?
YOU ARE READING
A budding writer's collection
PoetryJust a bunch of poems written as and when I feel to write them
