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.

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Books by Arti Honrao

Depression is REAL

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