The questions corroded and invasive within my head
is akin to a butterfly with clipped wings, torn, and safely locked in the cage of its festering, fragile heart.
Whilst the questions that coincide remain inanimate and still-framed like a picture forever frozen in the echoes of time
like a year without a drop of honey and milk from the Heavens, as life slowly crawls away from thirst.
YOU ARE READING
Collection Of Poetry
PoetryWhile I'm not writing chapters, I will occasionally submit some poetry whenever I get in the mood to do so.
