She hides herself down in her dwelling
And still all she feels is her chest swelling.
Her throat is closed, her eyes are clenched.
Her lungs are twisted and her heart is wrenched.
Her hands are sweaty and her feet are cold.
And here, it is, she feels 100 years old.
She feels too much and all too little.
Everyday to her seems like a riddle.
No one makes sense, it's all bewildering.
All she wants to do is to hide is this building.
Her mind is dead and filled with "what if"s
Yet she doesn't want to die, she only wants to live.
YOU ARE READING
Violet Dreams
Puisi"We wander and we let the words lead us." Old Poetry. Not my best. But still here :)
