lately the gentle
caresses of the
night became
sharp claws that
mercilessly dig
at my heart.
the silver moon
that used to
smile at the sight
of me, is burning
my skin.
and the stars are
no longer spattering
their dust on my
hair .
because of you,
the night is no
more a refuge for
my soul.
for every 3.am,
I can feel the words
crawling at my heart,
screaming at me
and pleading to be
out, to curve in the
shape of your
shadow.
every night,
my pen refuses to
write about anything
but you, and the
white sheets seem
to love the way your
name is carved all
over them.
my veins bleed ink
that always end up
spilled on the edges
of your shade.
I pour my poetry
into paper, but
the words slip
through my hands
and settle in your
lungs.
dear you lie between
the verses of every
poem I try to write,
for your ghost
lives in the dusty
corners of my brain,
and every night it
knocks at the door
of my heart, to
chase the sleep
away, and play
with the strings of
my mind.
YOU ARE READING
Dried petals
Poetry"and I find myself tucking your smile in the space that lies between every letter .for babe , if I can't keep you by my side ,then I'll lock you in each poem these hands write down ."_Aya Highest rank #43 in poetry on 23/7/2017 .
