Here is a poem
I made it from the words I found on buses, newspapers, blowing in the afternoon wind
and in daydreams.
And from the words you never told me..
Like "I won't give up on you"
Or "I'm staying".
I assembled them along with the leftover words from my suicide notes.
Just for you.
Just like how our lost brothers used to make them.
Or would've.
I want to see these words living on your lips.
Or falling down your cheek.
Or Running Along Your Wrists
OR WRAPPED AROUND YOUR NECK
Or even just reflected at the back of your eye.
In the hope that you'll receive a call at 3am on a Sunday morning about these words.
Then hear them again on the evening news.
About how they were found ISOLATED, HANGING in the dark,
AND SPILLING ACROSS THE ROOM.
Haunting it for centuries to come.
Let them talk about how it was the words.
Instead of one of us.
YOU ARE READING
Blooming in the Sand
PoetryRoses are beautiful by default. So Rose buds are supposed to be full of enthusiasm and excitement for what's undoubtedly to come. Except, some aren't planted where they're supposed to be, and instead struggle desperately to manifest their beauty...
