huddled up in my own thoughts,
my body allergic to sunlight,
and brackish beads burning brightly
up my brows;
I miss wakeup call.
and burn
inside pretentious bubble of
faking okay.
stars ignite religiously
in moonless skies,
and if she arrives in glamour,
few dots diligently-
call me
from stupor.
blanketed by branches of
thousand temperaments;
I fold myself into
a cocoon,
ready to sprout razors
and bleed myself into epiphany.
salt crusted cheeks
caress dusty window sill;
you get the beat
of silent moans and billowing storms
inside diluted eyes.
and the world
fell down in my palms,
unable to lift my lashes
from glueing once again.
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
PoetryA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
