She seeks for a home in the constellations,
For her real home isn't a place she'd like to be in,
And she only wishes to get away.
She hides behind the clouds,
Looking at moon,
Admiring its craters,
Which are so much like her,
A dark, soiled dent,
On something so beautiful.
And every night,
In her nightmares,
She watches like a film,
What her mind is scared of.
An oxymoron of life,
Trapped in boxes of irony.
And if you like wild things,
You would probably like her too,
For she is a camp of self doubt
And an army of sadness,
And probably a garden of weeded thoughts,
Which is grown and nutured ,
Only by her
Poetry.
~*~
{Because the only place she can be herself is inside her head. }
23rd of July, 2017
10:26 pm
YOU ARE READING
Lachrymose
PoetryI miss you, and I can't get over you. You bewitched me and forever left me in a state of lachrymose. #book 3 Cover by @deepan2486 Highest rank - #30 in poetry WINNER OF THE RHYME SCHOLAR AWARDS(WORDGASM) 2017
