My eyelids are heavy with the weight of a thousand tears.
My face is dry like the desert with a tiny flow of saltwater.
I'm hollow and empty like a soft feather that drifts slowly.
Soon to be buried harshly in the dirt of suffocating sorrow.
I shudder with the autumn leaves that rake past my hair.
Can't seem to find that sweater that warmed my despair.
I left my soul in the lake of which you swam past by freely.
Your cloak of invisible hurt has worn off on me in the heat.
My existence was nothing but a trophy to make you feel better.
But I'm afraid the dust has sucked up my ability to stay clean.
So I've wrapped myself with a see through curtain of bullshit.
Your despicable jar of overfed flies won't penetrate my skin.
I sit in this darkened cushion room that's full of facade masks.
Ripping the flesh of healthy product, I consume nothing false.
These disrespected walls are plastered with symbols of disgust.
With eager movement, I promise to stay alive despite the rust.
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It's one of those days. Deep reflection with pensive sadness. I'll make it through.
Sincerely Yours,
Liliana.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry (2015-2017)
PoesíaThis is poetry for the soul from Yours Truly. Volume 1. "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute, we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race." - John Keating aka Robin Williams. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Co...
