I try hard to pull
The strands woven form above.
As the fragments
Gasp and quiver in its grasp
It still refuses to let go.
And soon, I know,
The ropes will cut through
My own skin and flesh,
My own blood will flow
As if endless fountain,
Staining everything that surrounds.
Still I can't help but tug
At the cursed and wretched string.
While the tears trail
Down their cheekbones,
My lips will twitch
Into an ugly smile,
Imagining them all suffering,
As I destroy my everything.
YOU ARE READING
The Broken Soul
PoetryIt's a collection of poems written by the 'Peace Finder' in pursuit of herself. It doesn't matter if you are a lost soul or already a well bloomed flower, you will find her work relatable and heartfelt. Her poem are not long and you can definetly s...
