Ribs clutch and cage the heart,
Tightly clasped, it collapses in cerulean pieces,
Blue bronchi, in shade of sad art
A breach in bronchioles, the broken heart leashes
And that's the first sight of a sardonic silhouette slipping in,
Slipping into the soul through the broken fissure,
The heart is shattered and it can never win,
The silhouette is nothing but depression
It ensnared my soul like a parasite
Eating my soul up to leave a hollow razed void
And I felt like I'll die
And I'll never survive
But a flower bloomed upon the barren bronchi
YOU ARE READING
Harrowing Hiraeth: Suicide note that I never wrote
Poetry.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・ 𝗛𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗲𝘁𝗵 : longing for a home which never existed A poetry collection of obscure sorrows, of longing, solitude, nostalgia, healing and trauma. .・゜゜・:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・ ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ -> This poetry...
