When I try to crack down on my poems, they raise a hurricane like birds towards home at sunset I vomit those bled thoughts, I vomit here and there, everywhere, last to first, to the moon to the stars They can't reach the walls, I build a wall of words, I go on a slumber Secluding slumber, But the words take a cart, from the ink to the hearts, While I sit isolated numb, I make them nomad, Nomad of random measures and metres What it takes to burst through those slim lanes is a pounding heart to lose again, to see a loss again, I can't make and see others cry, I cry out the haze, ink down the rest My face isn't a paper to them, as they don't try to read My face is not some less than a novel, that knows how often it wets alongside the lively paper, I create I have those hurricanes at the back of my many copies, this one is also one of them, nothing much creative. #pulsechallenge #yqpmc66 (poems,words) #restzone #yqpulse #yqbaba #quotestitchers #jerksnshivers #rzmp133
