B l u e P a t c h e s

18

18| s a l t y p a l m s ;

" Salty palms,
Wiping away the leftovers,

Wrinkled clothes,
A sign of yesterday's misery,

Dropping tears in the dark,
Waking up to silver scars,

Numb thoughts and solemn prayers,
Within a sighing room,

I weep,
My body begs to be loved,

My mind lacks happy thoughts,
All the hallucinations,

Are nothing but a reality,
That pounces at my chest,

Blinds my sights,
And breaks my skin,

There's no place to hide,
From my very own sorrows,

Palms that still wipe away my mess,
Are my mortal enemies,

Reminding me how weak Iam,
Each day is a catastrophe,

Of broken promises,
Slippery lies,

placid hearts,
That still beats for others."

- a traitorous trade.