Voices of my Spirit
Voices of my spirit,
I can hear you.
But I am unable to understand you.
Do you ask to hate on me or
Is it a clarion call to forgive myself?
Monotonous passageways always lead to an end.
My unwillingness to escape promotes the ruination.
My feet are no longer in motion,
And nobody cared to stop and take a long curious look at me,
Or take an ugly picture to post on their stories.
I’m well rooted beneath the ground and my toes have become mosses,
Deep red in colour dotted with purple pink flowers.
My old rusted diaries,
I can see you,
But I am afraid to be near you.
Every page takes me down memory lane,
Fall back into the same place like dominoes.
Now I am remembering something that
I’d sworn to myself I’d forget.
So, I burn my forged words down to the blackest ash.
Now, he has become soil and
Worms crawl all over my veins.
Creepy and hideous with a tint of rose that makes my face blush.
Ragged shrouds from the back of my wardrobe,
I can feel you,
But I am so scared to touch you.
Each shred wraps around me, fingers first.
Your hands on me and
I wish I could intertwine your fingers in mine.
But I write shit in the overflow of sentiments,
I hit the ceiling at 3 AM thinking about everything that could’ve been different
If I had been different.
Stealing rumoured and recycled jokes about me from the cool kids
To settle down the turmoil brewing underneath my skin.
High time is only a temporary refuge,
To stop my hands from shaking,
So, can I put them on your face now because it gets cold around this time of the year?
I left it all behind when the flowers bloomed,
16 shades of pretty pink,
But I could only see outlined in blue, fading into grey.
Time passed me by and I turned static,
Breathe, breathe, breathe.