I am tired of your small talks.
Of your filthy flattery
That never ends
And strangles my neck.
Do you hear yourself?
I do not judge
But I do observe.
And being with you,
I feel like a flower
Under the undending scorch of sun,
And have myself
Wither to death.
Your lies are poison.
Your insults are embers being swallowed,
Burning my insides insanely.
Look yourself in the mirror,
Hear yourself from a recorder,
And see that your words
Are flying arrows
Piercing through the heart.
YOU ARE READING
Dark and Beautiful
PoetrySometimes my thoughts and hand bleed so much poetry I can barely stop them from leaking onto the paper. But sometimes, too, my heart bleeds too much blood that I couldn't write poetry anymore.
