my pulse is
discovering a paradox, my intricate design
i’m good at this little thing called rhythm
declarations
are yet unbothered
should we stop?
should i try to leave
a nice way
of thinking?
but anyhow,
i’ll gather occasions
noble sentiments
of affirmations
and restraint
to myself,
betraying this light
turning from its glow
to the shreds
but i have already
lost my eyes,
not by decision
but anyhow.
this is not too much
for me
i can’t seem to get
to your part
of the story
where
the
sun
burns us
down.
i’m good at this little thing called forbearance.
poem written by me.
cover image owned / edited by me.
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