12/5/18 నొప్పి
What does it look like again?
It is not these dull grey skies and unlit candles.
What does it sound like again?
It is not the deafening dissonance of the stringed instruments.
What does it taste like again?
It is not the flavor of my cracked lips.
What does it smell of again?
It is not the rustic, metallic smell of ruby liquids.
What does it feel like again?
It is not this painful ache that I feel in my chest most of the days.
What does it mean to break free?
It is not this personal prison. That is all I know.
//h.g.
YOU ARE READING
// this never dies //
Poetrymy heart may not linger forever but these words shall live on.
