She left her teal pashmina
across the bed
along with
a mumbled 'goodbye'
and coldness.
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look at my blood flowers, because I write with a serene sharp blade that soothes. as much as cuts into the deepest parts of my soul
Me
- Basit
- Son, Mallu, Expeditionist, Whimsical Blogger, Pseudo Poet, Haiku thirst, Literaly anti-literal, Foodie, Coffee & PinkFloyd addict. floating bewilderedly through space-time continuum !
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frosty morning / flock of starlings / twisting in the wind.
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behind a shade drawn down, the moon guides my soul into every journey I am masked with surviving I am what love used to do when mirrors cried.
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