bleeding words



torn to pieces,
lying scattered in the waste paper basket,
the yellowed pages of my diary -
bleed memories.

sitting alone in my room,
curtain closed, lights off -
room thrown into total darkness
i mourn the loss -
of words, 
some rhyming some not,
of feelings,
some expressed some not,
of past,
part gone, part lingering on.

i stare at the torn pieces
and they stare back at me
they bleed memories
i bleed tears
we give each another silent company
as the color of blood spreads over the horizon
the darkness being killed by rays of the sun.

Books by Arti Honrao

Depression is REAL

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