Castings | Poem

Wouldn’t you touch wounds

Inflicted under the burned noises

Crossing painful lines of anxiety,

Bringing the fallen monster

On surface to pick the knives?

It’s getting bad than ever, Deathra,

The desires to see that night

Before the time we signed on.

It’s not for the caged thoughts,

I would’ve closed my eyes than to

Write more about your life for dying.



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