❝ Almost like my poems,
you are such a commotion.
Almost like your touch,
the ice didn't do me right. ❞
Fingertips, covered with the
numbness of ice clamped in her hand;
She watched the words on
her ceiling, letting go of breathes full
of longing.
The words, dripped down on
her face like ice melting,
as her hands floated on the water.
She felt him, running his hands
on her back, warning to break it.
❝ If I burn, you'll be the one to run the ice on me. ❞
Everytime, she felt him wrap his
hands around her legs
and pull her down.
She would walk on, clamping
on the ice tighter;
almost waiting for the sign
to burn -
to drape his ashes around her ice.
Her bookshelf would crack
a little more, with the cool,
almost tearing her down.
This is how she was taught,
to live -
to drown and still live.
❝ Hey, Artemisia?
Sing me that song.
Stitch me.
Bury me.
Melt this ice of mine. ❞
Almost like an instinct,
she painted her ceiling with
a transparent colour of betrayal
and warm tears.
Corroding the string of fire,
the ice whispered words of isolation.
She watched everything burn,
surrounding the reincarnated water.
Maybe this was the lesson.
❝ Let the ice run wild. ❞
She laughed.
❝ Please. ❞
She painted more.
❝ Please, save me. ❞
❛ Did you save me? ❜
~Sampurna
YOU ARE READING
Ink And Echoes
Poetry♚ ❛ Juliet, Tell me what is it like to vanquish - When you tossed the coin, And stepped on the battleground, With the accent of swords. Still you stand, Hands dripping of sin. In search of Romeo, You killed, And killed, And died. ❜ { Highest rank in...
