The more I fall,
better I get.
In your visions of mundane mud
I try to cleanse through my soul
Where the heavens,
these locutions are streaming me?
I really don't know.
Just pouring in the cup of
this wonderful poetic journey
My heart...
Scribbling.
The more I fall,
better I get.
In your reflectors of dig dust
I try to scratch each wound,
Again, I'm ready to behead,
For my words can't ever be dead.
-err1585 aka Ritika