I once experienced the wind
of words coming up to the
curtains of my windows,
playing a thousand words before
it turns into a hailstorm,
because, poetry,
is clay, you can shape
it however you like.
Events are sculpters of
my words, i can live
up to the word 'trauma'
forever and create
poems with it.
I've experienced
a nightmare before,
one that made me afraid
that the monster in the closet
was already in the bed,
whispering sleep paralysis
in Chlorosis.
'You are
the
monster..'
I hate sleeping with
the lights on again.
I have experienced hell
under your heaven,
though you have seen the
biggest of demons
being the littlest angels.
Perhaps, your words have no bones,
but they are strong enough
to break my heart pieces by pieces.
I sought solace in a bizz-art
of my loneliness, yet the sound
of an apocalyptic flashbacks
breaks the silence,
almost like a lullaby
sang to me each night.
I might say i already
threw the weight of
a haunting past in
a lost land of regrets,
but i'm still making a
boulevard out of those
bad decisions, hoping it fills
the asphalt cracks you
made along the way.
©sars.
J