Withering breaths 

The mist of gloominess never leaves my skin,

The dull shades of gray discolor my dream. 

The dark clouds never stop bleeding upon me,

The track is empty with no tree or cave to shelter me. 

I stagger with an sprained ankle and blistered feet,

I sob and pray for some clean warm sheets. 

I have been dirty and starving since a long time now,

Not a face known halting to cover my naked soul. 

I keep walking and converse with my leftover withering conscience,

Trying to reserve my sanity lost in the land of torture and screams. 

I hear voices whispering the prohecy of my death,

Laughing at my rotting skin and pushing me off my brain. 

I see figures running across and staring at my shaken pride,

Watching me from behind and tricking the tide against my side. 

I am scared and lonely and on the edge of spilling over,

I have no hope left in me for years have passed walking the same old path… 

The same clouds bleeding upon my wrecked existence,

The same grimy mist clenching my despaired skin. 

My feet no more capable of another inch of move,

My soul trapped inside a putrescent groove. 

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6 responses to “Withering breaths 

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