Spine felt cold, as the fabric rested on the floor,
head, hands. Feet, sprawled,
periodic ticking,
on the wall, in the chest
a oscillating noise to complement
silver beam illuminates my iris,
ironically through the space between the blinds.
I can feel the frozen acids, oozing vessels
as well as the rise and fall in me;
an anonymous warmth in the castle of cold
but my eyes never left the spot, admiring.
-She thought before pulling herself up back, on her feet.
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**
