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Inna Jun 2015
it felt like trying
to get away with homicide
except
i was guilty
for keeping something alive

repressing ardent feelings
holding back words
locking them in a cage
like wild little birds

but my mistake
was leaving something
out in the open
forgetting the evidence
the body, this poem
Inna Jun 2015
nobody ever really
fully grasps a concept
what we know
are merely shadows
just empty projections

we try to make
illusions of convesations
exchanging nods of affirmation
yet are devoid of comprehension

we dine with strangers
whose whims, whose dreams,
whose greatest fears
we think we know
but no

along never ending
mirror walls, we walk
surmising our reflections
as who we are
even how disfigured,
distorted they may be

all we do is crawl
inside ill-lighted caves
pretending to know
what lies ahead
until we stumble
until we're dead
a poem a day
Inna Jun 2015
the art of the soul
turns your ink into ashes
your ashes to ink

— The End —