Rivers of self hatred
Blackens the mud,
And flow without aim.
Emotionless clouds
With suffocating stillness,
Hang heavily.
Loveless trees
Keep spreading scorched
Branches, sans leaves.
Winds seem to have become
Introverts, scared,
Rage within self.
You don’t stand a chance,
It not human,
The one you are connecting
to.
Let him go,
Here greenery stands no
chance,
The desert dies, always.
1 comment:
To every woman I know - A frustrated sense plays tricks and whole world seems grey, and greenery or new creations or connections seem impossible… like in a desert.
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