"bourid" poems
The grief in me is swallows the air I breathe
Crawling, dragging me into its built of guilt
Behind its door of agony
I grind my teeth
Plucking the soul that wiltled
What a waste for the core you kept
I stand at the abyss
with boxes of the life I left
bourid her beneath
and let her rest
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 9:57 PM UTC