My lungs fill with a mixture
of fire and water
that compete for superiority
but somehow don't extinguish
each other.
I sit in a room of deafening silence
but my ears are still ringing with
loud cacophony.
I am still trying to figure out
how I am both one and another—
both black and white—
but yet not grey.
Its been months since we've talked
and my unfinished sentences
toward you are surrounding me.
You were my outlet,
my one good thing.
I'm sorry,
but I've forgotten how to speak.
More or less write.
My brain is eating my heart
or my heart is eating my brain
and I can't tell which is which yet.
I'm sorry.
'*'
YOU ARE READING
Why You
ŞiirJust poems. Some poems that I have written and others from the internet. If you would like to send me poems, I will dedicate that page to you. Or if you want to stay anonymous that's fine, too. Poems that I have wrote will have a '*' at the end. Pl...
