•
this old spot
where dreams lay withered in silent protest
is where I pen my verses;
atop morning promises
and periwinkle hopes.
•
I carve melodies
in marshmallow symphony;
that which melts when his kisses warm my face
and harden when her milky eyes wash over me.
•
I am delusional
to the point where stipples
elongate into cacophonous ellipses;
dragging metaphors
into long suicidal signora
•
and that of tingling stars
tattoo hazy graffiti on my ribcage;
to outline the seriousness
of my hopelessness
in one single monologue.
•
and of which my hands go numb,
writing more than intended
and tracing less needed-
sonnets...
into ungodly hours of the night;
where my wayward hair
hung from the chandelier
like a confetti chain around my neck
like a chock clause;
•
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...
