It flows like a person following a path to the directed destination.
It flows like a river curving round a sharp bend in its bed.
It flows like water dripping down the windowsill outside your bedroom window.
It flows like a tap dripping water onto the flow of your finger.
It flows like a bee being pushed by the wind a certain way.
It flows silently gently unknown, because it is quiet.
It flows down and down further and further dripping onto the newly brought carpet.
It is bright red, glowing like a fire has been ignited inside.
Blood is pain but it flows.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for the fallen
PoetryThis is a book full of poetry for the depressed, sad, angry, pained, suicidal and much much more. It is a book of poems for anyone to read and relate to. I will try to update this book as much as possible so that it is there for people to read. I ho...
