Soft hearted grunge,
And a knack for pastels.
Living in matte,
In a circle that has the same,
Infrastructure,
To find a structure,
And then dismissing it all.
She's not here,
But nowhere somehow.
And, nowhere is where
She wants to be.
With a few petals,
And laughing barks
Here and there.
No questions,
Of who you are,
Because she knows,
That it will go unanswered.
She knows that in
Not knowing who she is,
Marks her identity.
The chiaroscuro,
That keeps filling and refilling,
That has no end, and no beginning.
Like a river,
Like a language,
Like a soul.
She goes on,
On,
And on,
Like her
Soft grunge playlist,
Unexplained.
Never lost,
And never found.
YOU ARE READING
Mirage.
PoetryDisclaimer : I do not own the pictures, used with my poems. They are the property of their creators.
