Paralyzed, I'm exhaling by
my unstable conscious
emerging from debris
that too ambitious dreams
altered my body into a vitreous one
Here, I'm lying weak and shroud
silence under water, bubbles
containing my loud thoughts
that too many times blasted by
transiting from land to land
Flouting, I'm just above embers
twinkling lights, my good memories
off by the fear of being forgotten
that too much lack of courage
transformed life into existence.
YOU ARE READING
Red wine, black ink.
PuisiI write during the nights in which insomnia hits my soul. Poems steal my words and make sadness touchable.
