Like a greedy vulture, I pecked at my skin
What is there to accept?
Is it the discoloured patches where plump red blush had settled before?
Rosy and full of life, I will mourn for my past self.
Is it the falling strings of hair giving up on embracing my tired neck?
A backbone that has defied its own purpose.
In a world of exchange and sharing
Nature has found a place in me
My soul reconciles with the desire to bloom
But my body is dwelling in its ashy winter days
Between the night and day
Find me halfway deciding where to go,
It will either be aspiring to be the sun
or waiting for the end to die with the moon.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
Like a greedy vulture, I pecked at my skin
What is there to accept?
Is it the discoloured patches where plump red blush had settled before?
Rosy and full of life, I will mourn for my past self.
Is it the falling strings of hair giving up on embracing my tired neck?
A backbone that has defied its own purpose.
In a world of exchange and sharing
Nature has found a place in me
My soul reconciles with the desire to bloom
But my body is dwelling in its ashy winter days
Between the night and day
Find me halfway deciding where to go,
It will either be aspiring to be the sun
or waiting for the end to die with the moon.
I have finally written something after weeks of mental exhaustion
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