– every spring doesn't bloom.
if it is spring,
a season for blooming
buds to blossoms,
flowers to fruits,
fruits to watering mouths,
full bellies to content smiles,
content smiles to warmth of hugs.
then why is it that amidst this euphoria,
my serenity loses it's lilt?
why is it that spring to me,
is sparks to fires,
fires to rages,
rages to splitting,
splitting to breaking,
breaking to being numb,
numbness to yearning,
why is it that spring to me
is the wilting of my heart?
YOU ARE READING
swevens of vernorexia
Poetryi shall bloom flowers of love in your heart, so you may bleed petals for blood when i leave.
