The grey sleepless nights
Somehow pass like smoky dreams.
The air filling my lungs
Pollute the dusty thoughts about her.
My room has no light,
Except the flickering blankness of the moon
Sailing through the waves, sorrowful.
Sometimes shutting ourselves off
Provides the relief we've been yearning for years.
Shutting oneself off is nothing but a disease,
a contagious disease.
I embrace bitterness tightly
To dig out glee from it;
It's given me so much
That now I can't bear much happiness.
Break-ups that tear your fibers,
That squeeze your nerves tightly,
That fill your eyes heavy, ready to explode—
Makes us learn
That each burnt bygone second
Remains as a birthmark.
The friend that misunderstands
Me not calling him,
Breaking all the relations;
The bird that flies away
For me not waking up for it;
How can I make them understand
How contagious this disease is?
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A/N: How can I make you understand how contagious your comments are? So kindly vote anyway, and share your lovely comment! :)
YOU ARE READING
the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
