Poetically Estranged

October 1, 2017
Custom User Avatar
More by this author

My original sin clung to me like cheap perfume,
A robe of shadow, a crown of bent metal;
These were my trophies for having escaped the prison of depression.

The darkest parts of my heart were now the most alive,
My melody was a melancholic symphony.
In my own spotlight, a mourning cello moaned.

I strung my bow with broken nails,
Stroked the strings with my tears.
I was now poetically estranged.

I was alone among my peers,
But in unison with survivors.
Solitude and togetherness haunt me.






Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback