I grew up
with stitched lips
and slit tongue.
The words ached
as they went out of me.
My lips bled
as my words broke free.
Few years passed,
the stitch fell off
and the slit wore off
but my words were locked.
The stitch
wasn't there
but the wound was
and it still bled.
It still bleeds.
-HIRAYA.
YOU ARE READING
1:11
PoetryBetween sunsets and sunrises are a bunch of poems that may mean nothing or may mean everything. Between sunsets and sunrises I am not afraid of the dark, I am fond of it. Part II of The Zeros. Made it to the wattys shortlist!
