• sagacious_miss 83w

    I hold my pen with utmost decency,
    Scribbling something over the sheets of paper that have stains of blood all over.

    My brain plays with words,
    While I narrate my story.
    For there is something that unnerves me,
    I move my quivering hand to form curves over the sheets of paper,
    Writing down metaphors.

    While my words lie naked,
    Just covered by a sheet of adulterated emotions.
    For my conscious thoughts flow as an ink,
    People, fathom the depth of my blues, by deciphering the metaphors that I bleed.

    But little can they fathom the thoughts of my unconscious mind, for it never speaks,
    For it never demands my pen to write about it.

    Unadulterated emotions lie there,
    Deep under the sheets of unconsciousness,
    Not decorated with metaphors and rhymes.

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    © Sagacious_Miss


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