Ramblings | Page 16
//1
Delusion.
In my head
we are carved together
into pine wood
Raw and without any glaze;
the termites feast
on my sweet illusion.
//2
"He doesn't even look at you"
Words so harsh, but the truth is harsher.
Is it just the paranoia
making me believe
that your eyes lick my skin?
//3
I am afraid. I am cold. I am alone.
And isn't this the same way
that I was born?
Birth is a traumatic event,
and I might have never recovered from it.
//4
So many questions. And all the answers are wrapped in fog.
//5
I wonder;
but I wish I could wander.
YOU ARE READING
| Bits & Pieces | ✔
PoetryA little bit of everything and nothing at all. //short poems// [some might be triggering] Highest rank: #224 in poetry (16th September, 2016) #272 in poetry (21st August, 2016)
