The art of Poesy

x

Here, in the midst of the tempest
I found myself lying in between the sheets,
Far from the door of pretension,
Away from the sucker of wealth.

And a blast of music in my ears,
not sorry for my soaked cotton pillows.
Here I am, hindering the flow of my tears,
afraid to see myself in it's vulnerable state.

While I showered smiles infront of people,
I am stabbing myself for not raging in them.
I'm afraid that this storm, cries louder
than how I bleed.

    

  
Because you know, I am afraid,
Afraid that I may not stop myself once I grieve.

Uhtceare; twenty three
Here