The blankets covering my eyes
Are so heavy as if made out of lead—
Dark curtains blocking the sun
From cleaning this dusty room
The air inside me
Flows no longer—
Autumn leaves and dried petals
Spiders and moths
Making out of it their home
A clockwork machine
Too rusty to work
Oil and fuel all burnt
Now I'm only scrap metal
Thrown inside a forgotten wardrobe
In a lost-to-time bedroom
Of my own
YOU ARE READING
H I M
Poetry"Blue eyes for distant Stars Honey eyes for Sunlight, We are the crashing of waves on sand Tree branches reaching for the bright sky We are where you end and I start; We were made to belong." This is a chapter in a book I am putting together. And t...
