Is a cartilage bearing
the sins of a unbearable capillary
The sentences of no remorse
comes in forms.
A wild stag robbed of its skin,
over a snow that even melts eyeballs,
tells me of a impatient mind.
Broken chateau glasses in season of fall
with no stains of warm blood over floor,
tells of wrath, that puked out of a heart dying of collapsing walls of insecurity
A man observing both, in vortex of time
Is stuck as a blob of ice feeling,
not knowing when to melt and when to burn.
A peace he cannot drink or spit
But bear with his actions.
One thought on “Remorse”
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