My words do not flow like they used to.
With a certain ferocity boiling up inside of me until I can no longer think but with my pen.
My words are no longer clarity,
Showing me how I feel without a second of hesitation.
My words are no longer the keys to my soul.
Baring me in a way I have never allowed myself to be bared.
My words are no longer sharp points of vulnerabilities itching at the surface of my skin.
My words no longer have meaning in the empty carcass of my skin.
My words no longer summon emotions that I have forgotten how to feel.
My words no longer have power over me.
Or anything.
YOU ARE READING
The Things That Hide In Our Souls
PoésieAn anthology of poems that I've written over the years.
