Writings of a creature
to be left alone
in a crowded place
a bliss or a curse
to see the world spinning
while you are static
hoping to be remembered
while being passed through
I just wanted peace
not to be forgotten
but it spins too fast for me
and I’m too slow to be recalled
What am I, but a drink spilled?
A stepped-on bouquet after a party.
A shredded letter of a broken love.
A stained long-distance memory.
I was supposed to be a flower,
but I was trampled and neglected
by the one who was to take care of me.
What am I, but a cracked glass,
unfit to hold emotions inside?
Too much for myself,
too much for others.
An annoyance.
What is this?
A supposed poem?
But it’s me trashing words,
or am I trashing myself?
In the dark, they creep.
Vine-like arms, seek
prey like you.
Innocence is lost at dusk,
your mind is reduced to a husk,
behind eye’s bars, you are stuck.
Sinking restraints crept.
Holding you in place.
Trying again to make you fade.
Moonlight shines at the window
illuminating your scared face,
trembling limbs, shedding leaves, discase.
Shivering air suffocates,
the pressure starts to ache
it comes from everywhere –
and you won’t escape.
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