My silence
Revolves into
Haunted Echoes.
And memories of you streams
Like reels of films momentarily
Alongside this pain.
Forging fear into a Pain-Framed wall.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Letters
PoetryWe are Afraid. The supposed Ones with bravery of hearts are weakened because of affection. Now we lay low on succulent beds and Undercovers. These are my honest Dead Letters.
