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In the grave
I think my poetry is
dying,
dying with the love
I am compelled to
kill for you,
I no longer feel
the word of web around me,
pulling and pushing me,
in and out,
making my existence
a little mess
as my poetry dies and lies
with me in the
grave of woods,
I am dead
with the words I failed
to write.
© Akshaiya
dying,
dying with the love
I am compelled to
kill for you,
I no longer feel
the word of web around me,
pulling and pushing me,
in and out,
making my existence
a little mess
as my poetry dies and lies
with me in the
grave of woods,
I am dead
with the words I failed
to write.
© Akshaiya
