I can't let myself.
Cut the thin string,
I'm waiting.
Turn me, blindfolded,
With squeaky direction
Where wind hurts
But only then,
In the worst of forests,
Will darkness stop me,
And I?
Murdered.
If only,
You turned me north.
Maybe,
I could let myself.
YOU ARE READING
Bloodless
PoesíaA poetry anthology pertaining to things that block the light in certain tunnels. A warning: Most of these poems tackle family issues, sexual abuse and other dark topics. All poetry was created by Avanna Limon.
