Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2019
What's left when the ire goes?
What's left when the turmoil turns?

Brightness chest. Return to breath.
Empty, to the full line, eyes up for the sky.

Doubling over, over with the shut door.
Over with the blockade.

What's left when the spite goes?
What's left when the part departs:

The empty art, the necroheart?
The busted love emulator?



in the aftermath.
I'm left. And I know
now, I'm allowed.
I'm allowed.
I'm left,
You know who you are.
You're allowed.
We're out here.
We're all over.
Hold fast.

Sunny.
A Simillacrum
Written by
A Simillacrum
  456
       ---, ---, Bhill and ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems