floating between the lines of
an addiction with whiskey
and the mercy of a little someone's memories,
I realize,
All addictions
are the same.
Inherently used
to missing you,
searching for you,
and probably,
my ghost will never know
of any other place to roam.
This taste of longing that I hold,
Feeling it deep inside
my broken bones,
an extraordinary sense,
that one day,
you'll love me like
the sun loved the moon.
these broken pieces that
rattle around my soul,
hold no more purpose.
just a broken ray of hope,
that one day,
in a different time,
a different place,
a parallel universe altogether,
we arrive late,
in love,
drunk as well,
we fall in love,
and that's where the story ends.
~Dishashree Swain
YOU ARE READING
Into The Black Hole
PoetrySometimes, pain becomes peace. Eureka! He's an oxymoron.It's been almost over eleven months; six months when it got way too critical, but I've been evolving and growing up out of it. It means much less to me now, and again, it keeps reminding me th...
