Remnants within living memory were all gone away.
Here I am, nothing more to say.
The life, I've always wanted is undermining like a hay.
Like a melody who has lost its rhythm aesthetically.
I held onto your promise.
Like a breathe that I lived in.
I yearned as it was broken down.
I am lost. No more place to dwell.
Piece by piece, our memories shrill.
But we can do nothing to make it thrill and spill.
Your name will run across in my own mill.
Somehow, we'll live with a lesser ill.
—PrettyMira18
YOU ARE READING
A Poetry of Emotions
PoetryIT'S NOT ABOUT WHAT A WRITER SAYS. IT'S ABOUT HOW A WRITER SAYS IT, TO MAKE A READERS UNDERSTAND IT.
