"sorness" poems
To forget or not to forget.
I shall drink my last cup of my dreams of you.
As I stare morosely at these bottles around me.
Each broken bottle is a story, of me, of us.
I feel the sorness in my throat and its burning slowly.
I feel old. Shall I forget these years? I can’t believe these years has been mirage
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
hollowed chest of broken-hearted rhapsody
eurhythmic harmony of maimed individual
this sorness coated with exquisite luminance
delineated ire on a hopeless romantic
carrying nothing but a wall of felicity
falsehood interspersed to young society
tangled tentons of lonesome planetaries
introverted, flying carelessly to abyss
slitted throat, bleeds continually
forming bath of inexhaustible spite
collapsing world, enhancing grief
crucial words of lacerated crowd
vast space of regretful sparks lightly beaming on a decayed embodiment
the superficies of counterfeit prosperity has fallen down into the limbo
the only thing left - dejected face of a rotten, testy, vacant debris
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC