Floating in your room,
locked inside the sun that
is burning inside your eyes.
Your sister was a little numb,
the blue marks on her spine.
She would stand near the bookshelf,
among everyone, leaning against gravity -
Her tenderness, slipping away
with her ripped jeans.
Life was like summer heat,
her poems would say, almost
singing that stolen bandages
and broken bones dessicated of
blood were worth of a mystery.
A lot of tongues,
had pierced her skin but
she knew it was the foam
of the tide that would sew her back.
Broken vases on the lawn,
broken hearts on her papers.
Pretty little darling,
you know she is not okay.
Almost every poet is not;
always playing with a fire
they should not.
~Seraphina
YOU ARE READING
Ink And Echoes
Poetry♚ ❛ Juliet, Tell me what is it like to vanquish - When you tossed the coin, And stepped on the battleground, With the accent of swords. Still you stand, Hands dripping of sin. In search of Romeo, You killed, And killed, And died. ❜ { Highest rank in...
