Treasure Island

Ellirie Aviles


The Cold


Deep within my soul,
there dwells the real me asleep.
The noise, chaos, & tumults -a normal scene,
a lullaby that kills desire.
Your words, no matter how sharp,
no matter how much effort you made to
bespoke of, are merely words
that though plunged with power
into my soul shalt not touch
the core but provoke merely
my human nature.
A soul; frozen & enveloped by darkness
no knife too sharp nor guns too powerful
be able to tear in - no more.
The cold within would burst at
places of silence and bliss.
Left are residues craving for more peace
-to be eradicated.
The cold which if forcefully truncated
shalt burgeon and spread and kill me gently.

Submitted: Sunday, February 16, 2014
Edited: Monday, February 17, 2014

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