Many imaginary scenarios lie down on my lonesome bed
many tears have dried on my pillow like stains of a war and
some hair have also remained on, like slain chances.
Covers try to warm the cold winter aura of my bed,
everytime I abandon my body on and let my soul wander.
Ιt feels heavy leaning on the softness and warmth of my blankets,
the mattress itself feels like a warzone
sharp blades ready to hurt my unarmed fleet of broken cells.
I can't fight back.
I'm losing, I'm sleeping.
A sleeping tragedy.
Sleep is more like an escape than a need now,
but still gravity pushes me to the limit
this burden is stuck in me like a leech, eating me slowly and painfully.
Even this need of relaxation is hostile against me.
I'm in a continuous weariness walking down an aisle of colorless moving images.
YOU ARE READING
My Secret Phone Notes
PoetryWords, sayings, thoughts of mine and maybe somehow poetry which are written in my phone's notes and nobody sees and knows about them but they keep deep secrets of mine that I'll never have the strength to say. Writing is my escape because there are...
