It starts like a whisper, barely noticeable.
A harmless touch, an innocent invitation.
Fingers grazing edges of something forbidden.
The rush blooms electric, colors beam bright.
You think you can hold it, keep it small,
fold it neatly like a well-kept secret.
But it grows roots, sprawling in shadows.
Your reflection splits, cracks along fault lines.
Hands tremble, itching for their next tether.
Every "just one more" builds another chain.
The world’s melody dulls into static hum.
Faces blur, their warmth feels oceans away.
Love grows heavy, harder to hold steady.
Apologies stick like ash on the tongue.
The mirror shows eyes begging for rescue.
Gravity tightens, but you still call it flight.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: December 9th, 2025 11:17
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments2
Enjoyed your poem. Well written, nice share!
Thanks Katie I appreciate your feedback
This can be taken more than one way Gray. The first way I took it was age and its ravages. Time can be a cruel master. A poem well written.
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