Pages
The brittle pages still sit between the palms of my hands.
The words blurring with the color of my pain.
Drops echoing around the empty room,
Announcing my pain to no one, and everyone.
Each passing of a minute hurts more than the one before.
As if the more I wait, the harder it gets.
I have heard that time cures all pain, but this is not the cure.
This is heading the spark of my pain, nursing the fire.
Instead of a shoot of relief, I feel nothing between.
Still I run my fingers over the words, tracing them over and over.
Memorizing the strokes, feeling the drops of my tears.
Turning the pages slowly, watching the minutes tick by.
The brittle pages just sit between the palms of my hands,
Watching, waiting for something, something I will never see.
YOU ARE READING
365 Days (Poetry)
Poetry365 Days. There are 365 days in a year. That is 364 normal days, and the lucky 1 day, that is astounding. These are poems of MY 365 days, my life. However, this will not be 365 poems, because wattpad doesn't allow that... it will be 36 poems, and o...
