Don’t ask me how I’m feeling if you just doing it out of curiosity or courtesy. Come ask me that when you’re ready for the real answer. Right now, all you’ll get is an “I’m fine”.
Don’t call my phone unless you’re ready to hear the pain in my voice. You know that I’m hurting, touching my line is not worth it.
Don’t look me in the eyes if you haven’t braced yourself. See the eyes are like a window and my curtains just been ripped out. It’s something sorta like Medusa when staring into mine, only you’d wish it would turn you stone cold because what you will see is much worse. A bloodbath of massacred emotions and notions of what could have been.

Cold and alone. Dead inside I’m basically a walking tomb.

2 thoughts on “Don’t

  1. I love the fact that you used – what I call – the stronger 3 of the 5 senses namely sight, touch and hearing in your poem.
    That path you created for all readers gives an immediate platform to envision oneself in your protagonist’s shoes. Each line digs deeper into the protagonists psyche and you end it with a punch!

    Though I must admit I hope he was massacred, the walking dead serve no purpose.


    1. Thank you. The words have to reach out and touch the audience brother. Either make them feel something or let them live vicariously through what is written.
      Maybe he did die. We have to destroy before we elevate right?


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