Never dare to ask me what happened,
that sickening nostalgia cripples me,
Ill be left reminiscing, barely here,
hanging, clutching the thread between
past and present for my dear life.
Never dare to ask me how it happened,
because just as the first syllable will erupt,
my chords of speech will depart to hibernate,
dont let me lose my voice again, my dear,
I have been too quiet, dont encourage it
as Ill be mute and those buried truths
will press their hands on my throat,
and Ill suffocate;
even air will come begging, pounding my nostrils
but my conscience wont budge anymore.
Those words are like curses, t
here fathom ignites when enchanted out loud
and as for the effect on me would be that
I wont be able to stop my lips from bleeding.
-She warned when he finally asked her story.
YOU ARE READING
THE GIRL WHO SPOKE POETRY
PoetryThe thing about pain is, it makes you question.. what makes you human? ____________ **Not cliche, I repeat, Not cliche, WARNING, not cliche**
