And when I smell the fire
A bunch of worries
Reminds me of foes;
Persistent like a stain.
And when I smell the blood
Floods of memories,
O’ my woe’s echoes
Fill my fucking brain.
And when I smell the oxygen
All turn into stories,
Bliss grows as roses;
I break the pain’s chain.
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Author:
LoneLibra (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 1st, 2023 15:50
- Category: Sad
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments1
Great imagery: after breathing so that the “story” of phobia and fear to “bliss of rose” I’m glad to see your new work peer friend
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