22/6/2021
tears cascading down her face,
just like water driblets on her window from the rain,
trickling down the curves of her cheeks,
touching the corners of her mouth like kiss,
vermillion sclerae from the saline drops,
overflowing her wearied eyes until they finally slop,
and yet this cerebral purification she must endure,
for her ticker fabricated this dishonest allure,
her mind delicate, blinded by gleeful prospects,
willfully giving into the hearts fictitious concepts,
but now her low burning fire is all that remains,
drawing red lines -from the scorching tears- on her face.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ
Poetry𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨 (n.) 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘤 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯; 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘰𝘯 Poems posted daily, for every day of the year. Works of an undefined theme with a touch of fantastical elements as well as a healthy dose of r...
