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What Remains of You

Surviving

each second

that isn’t yours,

that never asked

your permission

to exist.

What’s left

of your soul

is taken from you.

In the end,

little shade,

and the water

that remains.

The wine you drink,

sour sweat,

and the water you lack

are meant

for the flowers

already set aside

for when

you are ash.

Until

you awaken

before becoming

their soil.

And then,

drunk on life,

for the first time.

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Written by

afrota

Lisbon - Portugal

Published: Mar 14
LinesWords: 2872

Notes: by A.Frota

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