It is suffocating,
the noises of the human being,
grew without roots,
has wounded what is already a wound.
Killed, not by the cut of a knife
nor the bullet of a gun,
but by the words
which was thought undone.
Hardly breathing
but all you can hear is
'I'm fine.'
YOU ARE READING
He
PoetryA book he holds with countless pages, His eyes heal, and his love reads. This story contains prose and short poetries that is all about a man's point of view of love and life.
