In the abyss of a poet's mind, thoughts weave, the heart on the line,
The tip of the pen tears the skin of the paper, but words never collide.
Heart yearns to reset the clock, yearns to turn back time,
When ink dressed the papers in its ambivalent carmine.
Unspoken verses linger around, shrouded in silent apprehension,
Like the loneliness in a crowded room , or perceiving truth within the realm of fiction.
Bleeding heart, messed up mind, yet numbness seeps deep in the bone,
"How does it get so empty?" screams the heart, trapped in a paradox, all alone.
~S.
YOU ARE READING
Monochrome
Poetry"Inking something meaningful"- Wish This poetry collection revolves around human emotions. If you want to recognise them through the words of a poet, you're most welcome.
