
In every gesture and face,
there is a reference to the past,
interconnections with the lost space.
I wonder where existence lies
and where the entrance is.
The old life still wants to live,
while the new life awaits.
A devilish grip emerges
from the shadows behind the thick curtains.
The blood and tears splashed on me
causing anxiety to grip my muscles tightly.
It demands its rights while taking away mine.
So, I must remove the layers that have grown on me
like tree leaves,
depriving me of sleep at the right time.
Only then can I fully relax
and recover from the decades-long
haunting bad dream.
---
Thank you for reading!
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...


Comments (2)
Great writing. So relatable. 💯👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾
so been there. great poem