All i can hear
Is myself breathing
Every breath like splinters being hammered
In an old creaking floor board
Old wounds
My eyes prickle
I won't give up
Not yet I came so far
The mattress ingulfs me
Into its frail body
I hold the picture frame tighter
In my hand
Not willing to let go
Its been years. Still
A crack is visible on the frame
I carres it with a single finger
Blood trickles out screaming
I suck on it
Tasting bitter metal
I turn my face
Towards the dust clouded window
A beam of light escapes
Is there still hope?
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Your poems are fantastic. you are certainly one of the best amateur poet on blogspot.
ReplyDeletethanks :D
ReplyDeleteVery powerful and moving, absolutely beautiful :)
ReplyDeleteAnd thank you for stopping by my blog today.
You are a free-spirited soul. I sense a lot of courage and strength in you for you carry your scars with pride. Yes, there is still hope.
ReplyDeleteExcellent imagery. So forlorn ...
ReplyDelete