The silence begins to be loud.
The sun feels so cold.
Red wine tastes like blood.
The dead are breathing heavily.
Moving but I can't feel your heartbeat.
The weekends short.
Save me the trouble.
Pour me a glass of wine.
With blood spilled,
I hope I'll find the one that'll,
Carry my sorrow and,
Bury all my hurt.
A blind man seeing what I see.
A deaf person hearing what I'm crying about.
A cripple running around in my yard.
With blood spilled,
I hope I'll find my one and only saviour.
With blood spilled,
My heavy hurt limps.
There is coldness in summer's warmth.
I hope I'll find my old boy.


© Mine Vitan