when the fire stops raging
the sweet flowers stop blooming
when the tears have ceased to glisten
and the whispers ceased to be listened
when the heart has stopped dancing the familiar rhythm of love
when the colors of the paint have dried
and the canvas is a tortured grey
when numbness has crept up your skin
like an army of ants eating up the flesh within
only then do the words stop coming.
YOU ARE READING
Poemtasia
Poetryshort poem and prose collection written by me, composed of all the words i'd rather not say and all the other words that make up my small fantasies hope y'all enjoy!!
