Ripped

Poetry, Writing

I am a rose, my petals fall
Not due to the seasons
But inescapable time
Passing by like hourglass sand
Through dry fingers
Still walking, all broken
The thoughts in my mind
A heavy weight, crushing me
I am a ripped bag, I fall apart
And cry, and cry and cry

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Hideaway From Thorns

Poetry, Writing

How should I know
Who to trust
If everybody wears a mask
And stabs my back
When I’m not looking
I shall lay under the covers
A hideaway from thorns
Happy alone, in my imaginary world
And when the thunder grows
I’ll be peaceful in this place
Nobody can hurt me

Forlorn

Poetry, Writing

I’m nothing and everything at once
Thoughts closed inside a box
Day turning into the night
I see, the moon is suspended
In the sky from a tight rope to hold on to
Or to end your life with
I’m always in the middle of everything
An island made of ice, floating to an unplanned route
without a compass- not for an adventure but for some answers
My mind is torn, after all, I’m forlorn

Cigarette Smoke

Poetry, Writing

Thoughts conjured inside my head
The sharp doubts like a failed acupuncture
Scraping the brain cells into pieces
for consumption of strangers
I don’t know why I think and how I’m supposed to
I allow myself to be forced into patterns of self-destruction
A clown bowing down to lick dirty shoes
Face paint ruined- “I laughed too much” –
Will be a good enough excuse
For all I know the end keeps occurring
It throws us off balance
Into the empty pool of darkness
Where I cannot seem to find anyone
And me- I always feel it
How she’s approaching from a distance
The void hissing her teeth
My conjured thoughts will erase me someday
And I will fade like a cigarette smoke into nothingness