Screeching violins

Rip the hollowness

My words are filled with;

No, I can’t stop these symphonies 


Clotted blood in my veins 

Plead to bleed through the ink

I have pierced galore papers with;

No, I can’t choke these fantasies 


This heart dives in, 

To measure unfathomable depths

Of a thousand melancholic oceans, everyday;

No, it can’t cease to butcher itself 


My hands lay sore

From holding on to every fabric 

Ever taped to this rusted mind of mine;

No, I can’t drown its words


Who am I? 

Merely a fleshed skeleton 

Which drives its skull

Through the walls of misery

Day after day

Just to feel the wretched droplets

Of the Storm slipping 

On this skin, as it anyway does 

On the same-minded bones. 

                            – JAISMINE K. 

lovingly sore