Some feelings are only felt
Adrift on the hair without being dealt.
But sometimes an eruption.
Sometimes a feeling to end all caution.
Empty words creeps up on the lips.
Means nothing. But a forceful whip.
But you end up dragging your silence.
And desolation speaks of your defiance.
Melancholia grabs hold of your marrow.
You cry without tears until tomorrow.
You choose silence to bring you no wound.
But wound it was, that silence groomed.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC
Some feelings are only felt
Adrift on the hair without being dealt.
But sometimes an eruption.
Sometimes a feeling to end all caution.
Empty words creeps up on the lips.
Means nothing. But a forceful whip.
But you end up dragging your silence.
And desolation speaks of your defiance.
Melancholia grabs hold of your marrow.
You cry without tears until tomorrow.
You choose silence to bring you no wound.
But wound it was, that silence groomed.
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