i am too afraid to speak,
my lips like roses might wilt from fear
if i dare open my mouth --
and what good would it do --
i don't know what to do
with my battered corpse anymore
and silence stills my flesh;
see, i'm raw as the lace of my skin
and i can't think straight
and perhaps you don't love me
enough for all that.
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(15/03/2017)
YOU ARE READING
THE OCEAN
Poetry'In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and...
