𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆

15 5 3
                                    

A shout comes out of the room,
radiating the tension in the air,
quivering the earth,
the vessel of silence
getting louder and louder. 

Hearts tiptoeing,
voices fragile and brittle,
murmuring floors of eggshells,
as the tide of rage swept within the four walls. 

Kettle whistling,
the steam emanating,
as a time bomb was ticking away,
hidden by the fog of night and day,
waiting to explode, to be the volcano erupting the scene of chaos.
 
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.

The tempest of fear,
dreading to provoke
cracking the glass of doom,
as the sky cried out to the sea,
tasting the clash of wounds. 

Rocks aloof,
avoiding the smoke
on the horizon,
as pieces of a vase
shatter in hailing tears,
by the climax of harsh hours
of screams.

Alas, to walk on shells of yolk
to not disturb the air,
avoiding great pails of pain
cautious to just be.

- Walking On Eggshells
______________________________________

- Walking On Eggshells ______________________________________

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
the words I kept Where stories live. Discover now