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Mar 14
The strings quiver-a broken body in silk,
nails pressed to wood
like bruises that refuse to fade.

A melody bleeds,
sharp notes rip through skin,
veins unravel in cold ink.

Drums crack time open,
tremor down too slow
to outrun the black.
Shadows gather,
drowning the air.

A voice rises-strangled, fractured,
singing what lungs can’t reach.
Each chord a blade,
carving its name into bone.

And when it ends,
silence screams louder
than the song that tore me apart.
Brwa S Rasheed
Written by
Brwa S Rasheed  29/M/United Kingdom
(29/M/United Kingdom)   
174
 
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