reaching out.
trying to grip what fits my hand.
will it be your heart?
awarding me your love.
or will it be your words?
wiping away
the deafening silence
in my lonely world
will your presence
give warmth
to my cold existance?
or will it burn me to ashes?
ashes to be scattered
on my grave.
reaching out.
trying to grip what fits my hand.
and it is death.
the death of my heart.
ВИ ЧИТАЄТЕ
Unfixed
ПоезіяCompilation of my self-written poems, proses and one liners. -Aliah Rodelas
