THE DEMISE IN MY DREAMS

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by annumshabbirraja91

by annumshabbirraja91

For years, she couldn’t write,
For tears, she had to abide.
There was no offence,
but to write,
write with subtle design?

She was sick,
demons played the ply,
Every night.

She was hooked up,
Her shoulders were burdenized.
Stars, solitary vibes
and brushes, all that
She wanted and desired.

She was flick.
That eagle inclined
And demeanor.

Which eagle?
What demons?
Whose sickness?
Was she broken
Or inclaved?

The eagle,
expectations to their unfathomable heights.
The demons,
residing in her cage like a curse.
Her sickness,
With its uprooted beehive.
She was restless,
Her curves and flicks
were trimmed.

Ohhh, there’s smell, filthy smell.
There’s darkness,
Wounds, I suspect?

(A howling laughter, a piercing sound)

Desires,
Induced in her passion,
may heal the wounds
and she could see the reflection
In the mirror.

What does she see?
Is it an angel or
a demonic disease,
like her cursed shadows.
Speak up! What is it?

An innocent crying girl,
With her opened arms
Lifting in the wuthering winds.

(Sighs!!! Sad howl)

Why would she see that dream,
so often,
so vivid,
so sadistic.
Why would she see that dream?

Stars, solitary vibes
and brushes, all that
She wanted and desired.