it is the rattling of
the picture frames
that you kept hidden
in the back of your mind,
hanging against the
apricot wall;
it was the tremor
that shook every
glass windows
of your body;
the distant knocks
of strangers
you met in your
past life;
it will hurt you
but you still relish
on the feeling of compunction
seeping onto
your delicate bones;
it will come unexpected,
meeting you at every rendezvous
and you welcome it
with warmth and
joie de vivre.
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 8:33 AM UTC
it is the rattling of
the picture frames
that you kept hidden
in the back of your mind,
hanging against the
apricot wall;
it was the tremor
that shook every
glass windows
of your body;
the distant knocks
of strangers
you met in your
past life;
it will hurt you
but you still relish
on the feeling of compunction
seeping onto
your delicate bones;
it will come unexpected,
meeting you at every rendezvous
and you welcome it
with warmth and
joie de vivre.
[ and of hate ]
