The Unspoken Word Poetry

S T R I N G S

in the middle of the night,

I'm running back to this circus,

that seems to be a virus,

with shivers of cold breeze that I can't seem to fight.

I'm so agitated,

the voices are so disturbing,

they keep me hanging,

from their shouting.

I can't seem to run,

Away from these things,

that are disturbingly fun.

As if I'm attached by strings.

the cavity it brings me,

feels like an agonizing spree.

that quenches the thirst,

of something that cannot be reimbursed

Halfway, I paused.

In deep thought, recollecting the cause.

For my travelling towards the abyss,

That' full of amiss.

Trying to turn-away,

These strings are a stronghold.

Can't seem to breakfree, in any way.

However, the movements are bold.

The strings, virus and cavity.

They can never decay

So don't be fooled, don't get swayed

by the words, despite its gravity.