Why do I feel this
still, this cold, this plain
when my heart is still pumping blood into each vein;
when my skin overheats every time I speak up;
when my head is a war field, ready to blow up?
Don't you dare claim it's
a proof I am sane.
My mind, a war of thoughts. My thoughts, a hurricane.
//
Saturday, May 9th, 2015 | 19:56
Photography by Laurence Demaison.
YOU ARE READING
Slurs
PoetryCollection of soulful poems inspired by lived experiences. // Cover by me
