Poetry Maker

I stay all alone through the night.
Trying to sleep, changing my sides.
Those words of whom I love, keeps me abide.
Lets me into scenarios and places.
Where nor this body, or these thoughts have visited.
There is only this blurry image of the lovers I held in my eyes.
Always trying to live into their lies.

Sometimes I feel like a broken vase.
Going through all the fake promises and faiths.
All I know now is, that I've never loved enough.
Because I've never understood what was it like, to pour everything you have on this lonely paper.
And, how it feels to be erased by the solitary poetry maker.

Popular posts from this blog

The Wanting