PoetrySad Poems

Cold

With no breathe
Lungs dry
As the desert
Heart that once beat
Like the tom tom drums
Its drum skin has been broken
Words yearning to sail out
But the passage has been stitched

Cold
Lying down to my backbone
In a wooden box
Covered, no ray is penetrating
Creatures moving in and out
Feeding, living on my shell
With no rental settlement
Have no control of the shell I once owned
I beautified every sunrise
Filled with ornaments
Shone like the new pin
Perfumed, but now
Now it smells like rotten eggs
That even my shadow departed me

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