she held her hands
and watched
how meticulously the memories
formed a melody
and played on repeat,
while her heartbeat
thousand miles per hour.
snippet of memoirs
ghosted around her tiny
world; the hands in her
shivered- she never left
them.
many passed through them,
and played on the
old swing,
and cracked jokes; about-
how a blond-haired
girl pulled the brunette
down and died as the storm hit.
sullenly,
she looked down at her sister;
a smile plastered on her
tiny porcelain skin.
her cold heart
whimpered;
but somebody heard only
rumble,
and they both
vanished
as the storm
ended.
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
PoetryA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
