My bloodshot eyes are stained with black, circled by dark rings of sleepless nights and smudged ink. I have a permanent headache, my mind singing bloody hymns with battered rhythm and broken voice; my failing vision clouded by smoke and cracked glass.
Words leak out of my skull, seeping like black tar; they burn my skin like the sting of elusive flames. I have broken promises tattooed on my chest.
And this is how it feels to have your imagination chained to your heart.
I lower my ink-stained hand to ravaged paper, and words trickle out of my veins.
YOU ARE READING
mid night poetry( part 1)
PoetryAbout mid night poetry :collection of dark poems that I use to write or have written at night ! "I'm different. I will give you my treasure chest of darkness first. If you can handle that, then I'l...
