Wrinkled

-
Tik-tak goes a clock
The sun set to set
Ticks a ticking time bomb 
Sands sink down a kink.

Sorrow has darkened my world
Days have fallen short of light
Vehemently nights have been hurled down, 
to long emerald hours of wretchedness.

Proven "stage four." at last diagnosis
days numbered
spirit fallen short of grace
"Isn't it me that needs saving?"
On a finger my days are counted. 

Months for days, days for hours
Here stands I at the end of a road. 
my lamp of hope dimmed, 
All left, is anticipation for afterlife.

@juliuscseguya 

Sandglass 


Comments

Post a Comment

I am humbled you found pleasure in writing back.

Popular posts from this blog

Footsteps

-
Image
 "foot steps" a nightmare of fear days darker and nights louder happiness folds under my feet beneath soles sorrow unfolds at every thought peace froths like a bubble  esteem pops   along flights over avenues  left only in the past was i scathed footstep symphonies thoracic drum beats squeals and slams "dare not scream" in between my legs the pains are gone still in the heart and daily meals are pills tears never to dry aches of endless symptoms  of a forever syndrome why me, why you uncle? novemberwordsworth *woes of somber hearts* ©2023
Unfold »

Scapes for Escapes

-
Image
Far apart, seconds split  where no space prevails, a heart beats quite harder after a trace of fingers,  gasping for eacapes your feet will never give.  Feel your chest rise high and then fall down below, pressures of your bosoms pushing against my chest,  we recycle the summer air warm deep from our lungs. I melt into your weak gaze, sinking to the bottoms of oceans hidden beneath your blue eyes, before the bed gets colder  we disappear far beyond the safety of a closed door.  Under the cotton white over the placid sheets, we shudder off cuddles solve the riddles unsolved, as hosts lost into each other in the moment we burn.  november (wordsworth) *whispers of love* ©2023
Unfold »

Lachrymal Potrait

-
Image
Our love story begins a time and moment I let you go a day I walk through that back door footsteps marked by trails of driblets feelings over brims of my entrails spilt all around like grains of sand sinking down like sands of time a one way ticket trip to greyscales haunted shadows of our phobias. The wind seems colder out here quite reclessier in your absentia I hold fingers out for a search stroll over tips and nibs of broken pencils  only a brash but not a droplet of ink with ink from a lachrymal fountain I cast lashes and strokes of driblets adroitly tracing your pretty face into a tear stained painting.    Everyday I stand in front of a mirror is a Halloween it's freaky Friday glancing at my own reflectance I see not less than a fierce archer thrilled more than I'm lost in dread and the unprecedented nightmares  to see my other self with own hands tearing down all that we've built  turning everything around me into a world of broken dreams. Now that I've known not
Unfold »