The leeches,
That slither down
Our skin.
The vermins that
Eat over the
Leftover sleep.
We're not afraid
Of the devil,
That pays a visit
In our dreams.
The wounds,
Inflicted this way
Can eventually
Be healed.
The worst kind
Of pain has certain,
Hidden softness
About it. Like-
The rose petals
That slit open
Our veins..but
We've been happy
About the smell
That has stayed.
The bygones,
Who left a memory
Without care and
The nostalgia,
Has been ruining
Our days in vain.
Prison is a bad
Place anyway.
But when we,
Romanticize,
We scratch open
The scars again.
No comments:
Post a Comment