Words

Syllables paint the walls

a coherent mess

fumbling from corner to corner,

eroding my haven.

Skin scraped by sharp rhetoric’s

that bounce from surfaced stone,

hard and beating.

I want a smothering of hard plaster

to heal the wounds.

◄ The Light Box

Fixation ►

Comments

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AVISHEK GHOSH

Sun 26th Jan 2020 14:59

Good one

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