the ink
inside my pen
dried out,
as I squeezed metaphors
from it;
yet, the impression
left behind,
creased
my heart
until the synonym
was tangled between syllables of melancholia
and tangibility
a twisted
embracement
to make me sink deeper
into the abyss
of unexplained
sonnets.
I shed armor-
encrusted
in rhinestones,
as the moon wakes me
from stupor.
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
PoetryA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
