I am a bomb
thrown up in to the air
and rolling to a stop at your feet.
the seconds tick by
as you stand, oblivious,
until finally... an explosion.
red, orange, yellow
destruction and flying limbs
smoke that tickles your lungs.
you are dead
because finally I let go
finally I exploded.
YOU ARE READING
jumbled thoughts.
Poetrysometimes you need to bleed out words to feel okay. sometimes those bled words take the shape of a poem.
