I burn my skin
Charred blackish lard
Groping the end so near,
Pithiness surging high
Succinct of laconic waste
The life;
Embarking on the journey
from where I began, inside
To whimper
The lost crown, hidden
Unborn, cloying the abyss
As sweet as jaggery;
And
The progress lean on
The rebel, who you are;
But
To lie down
When the entire ladder must struck
The thud of the falling heart
No comments:
Post a Comment