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Walk past.
It sickens me,
Every action,
Every word,
Every glance.
Each a new knife driving into me.
And yet I've learned,
To bury the pain.
To hide it all and keep walking.
Walking past your smile that could make the sun look dull.
Walking past your laugh that could put a child to shame.
Past your voice. A tune forever burned into my head.
A voice I will try to forget but would never want to.
For there is nothing after. And nothing before.
I liked this piece. Strangely
I liked this piece. Strangely enough, it seems to have induced a nice shakti swirl in my crown. Maybe because I read something spiritual right before reading this. And it was like it made me feel a particular spirit I know, deeply, whom I have similar feelings of.
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