Dawn. Heart that crashes into the wall of my ribs, it hits itself to run away over and over. Travelling far from me not to sink in the seas of tears; ink where the pen that narrate me on white sheets drowns itself.

Disabled. It drags itself by the corners of its prison, room that corners it inside the pain. Home in flames where a spiral of arrow shoots offers it in sacrifice. Martyr of the failures of my mind.

Alone. It’s pulled up the thorns that tangle it to my soul and runs without looking back. I see it to get away from me and only keep me in a empty drawer until it comes back…

Although I doubt that it comes back with its poetry.


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20 comentarios en “Dawn

  1. i like this. reading it from down below reads-alone,disabled (at)dawn. the heart that detaches itself from the soul is trying to (in its state of disability) crawl away from the pain it witnesses and feels because of the soul but cannot move far beyond the dawn instead it hits the ribs and probably travels by way of tears.
    i like the sentence constructions too-nicely thought through.

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