Omar Posted August 30, 2022 Share Posted August 30, 2022 My head is, an inch, near a loop Of a hanging rope, A tear is, on a verge of my eye, Upon slipping. My soul is ruggedly drying as an Oat bread Ascending its fragments with Umbel's nectar to The lunar heaven. I begin to swallow my breath, My heart started lisping, my skin prickling With reflections of the day, The noons open their mouths With every mourn lament. I haunt myself down as I usurp death, I took his power when my chin touched The indelicate halter. I am rigor mortis now. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts
Join the conversation
You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.
Note: Your post will require moderator approval before it will be visible.