Echoes from the tongue of poison warped their way inside the flimsy walls, moulding the memories of the screams and words that tasted O so bitter.
The words that hurt more than sticks and stones wrestled and fought until
slithering inside the serpent of all hearts.
Words seep into the veins, twisting the golden rays of the soul into the ink of guilt and shame.
Like the smashing of a wine glass, the quaking of an earthquake rumbles the core of your being, bringing down the rain of endless drops of fluttering pain.
Down,
Down,
Down
—to the sea of broken wings.
And you look into the eyes of the mirror and see the shattering desires of perfection, to be the monarch of expectations, the supreme ruler to please and serve, to be the chair worthy of love.
Will the air of flames swallow you up when you forget to breathe?
When the walls are the harbinger of hostile anger, feasting on the culprit of tears.
To be a nightingale—
crowned with the endless night of melancholy and happy disguise.
- Angry Walls
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𓆰𓆪
YOU ARE READING
the words I kept
Poetry"𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓱..." These are the feelings I carried with me, thoughts I held back, scars I hid, and all the words I kept; my friend and my foe. A C H I E V E M E N T S : » 𝑾𝒂𝒔...
