Decrepit
Jun 9, 2024
Inscriptions of pain
scrawled over my body,
I sense phantoms ambling
through my intestines.
A perverse desire to taste care,
I traverse through transgressions
of time and space, of longing,
and wanting to be caressed.
A dark shawl embraces me,
telling tales of deceit and defeat,
blanketed with hopelessness,
I yearn for a long repose.
No one beside me,
no hand pulling me out,
I sink into a chasm of despondency
with no taste of passionate fire.
