• ___7___ 5w

    Lines run wild inside
    As I close my eyes
    Irises rummage stories
    Clutching sceneries and lights
    Words come close , closer
    Closing the gap they often leave
    But poetry ?
    It chooses to stay a-far .
    Pricking syllables at my
    damn drunk backlog
    Picking metres from
    My mundane mad dead songs
    It starts scaring And yes, just scars .

    As it
    Stutters and stops
    Playing the same tantrum
    I lose all my rhymes
    That could rhyme us a reward .
    Scribbling ,
    Scribbling all my sins at its altar
    Tell me my Hooman ,
    If I should give up .
    If you should give up on what you never had

    And tell me, if there can be peace
     Without War ,
    A peace without a War ?


    I never know how to write . Also . I never know how to stay quiet .
    So ,what do we do to this , my Hooman .

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    Every day I can not be a poet
    But everyday you've to be a poem .
    So ,what do we do to this , honey ?