The body is a work of nerves
Electricity screaming through veins
A thousand pulses
Not rooted to this spot.
I want to own this moment
What am I?
Who cares?
I've forgot.
In the splice of a second
My heart fell through a flesh trap door
Its worth doesn't reside in another breath.
We've looked but we can't find it.
A catch in the throat, at least, pain is present,
Tangible.
Expectations are not.
Monochrome is safe.
Except within the soul.
Assurances flicker, dulled
Deadened.
You allowed yourself to envision in colour,
No wonder you aren't enjoying it in black and white.
Promises aren't worth being made.
Who cares though?
I've forgot.
But those colours...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem