Fond of things I hung on my wrist
Various colors were shining
Different designs cheerfully danced,
as I swayed my arms along with the butterflies
Certainly caught the eyes of those who passed by.
Praised only a part of my body and asked “Where should I get one?”
They were blinded by the beauty of a thing,
Even if its ugliness was visible
They scanned each string, but not the mysterious ones hidden underneath
My engraved bracelets
If I were to put it into the most elegant term
Fruit of my loneliness
Spit of my sadness
My hand trembled, scared, but benumbed
I drew countless linear lines
Trickles of blood spilled over
And I watched them; I just stared
Missed tears were finally found, again.
They resembled a fine wine and water that just had fought
And the floor was the prize
This was the only pain I had ever tolerated.
But, my pal coldness has been replaced by a stranger named warmth
Time modified most
Harms turned into scars,
then I owned permanent marks
Further, I regained the drum
Its sticks thumped endlessly inside my chest
I’m still alive, and the instrument within me still did its own thing
To beat, continuously.
No comments:
Post a Comment