She found her diaries one afternoon.
Interest she would feel, one would presume.
But they were sheer horror for her, ones that bring doom
For they contained anecdotes she'd want to rid soon.
She need not read the contents, she lived them and survived.
She didn't even wonder if lost dreams were there to be revived.
Hurriedly she went to the backyard and let water, not fire, arrive
Between pages, and now, memories are drowned to not thrive.
A/N: Day 6 of 100 Days of Poetry. Written on July 28th.
YOU ARE READING
Pinwheels and Dead Leaves
PoetryThis is a compilation of my works in the year of 2016. I was pretty active that year, really inspired by love and friends, and started reading and discussing philosophical things. It was also the year that our group the Ice Cream Club did the 100 da...
