You're drumming against my chest
Your sound is shortening my breath
And the anxiety you stimulate is unbearable
when I try to quench your thirst
Hot steam is what you huff
my efforts to help, you rebuff
How can I help you?
YOU ARE READING
The Voice of My Silence
PoetryThe words that he spat germinated and grew into the tree that overshadowed him What goes around.. From the author: vote and comment if you like what you see
