This poem is broken

restlessness spits the wall of death
in hunger & pain.
my body rotates like a disc
surrendered sound of music.
tip toed stigma, a struggle each day
insects sound screeches,
this wooden brain,
or an empty space of lovemaking.
call it anything.
say it names, zig-zag platonic voids
plastic belly button games.
sick voice of head.
call it anything.
a flower holds the world,
its a silhouette speaking of a grave.


71 thoughts on “This poem is broken

      1. 🤐🤐🤐

        You got it lol!! 🤗😄 and trust me, it’s always a pleasure reading you, dear!

        Liked by 1 person

  1. ‘plastic belly button games’
    WOW! Only you can come up with such beautiful unthinkable metaphors.How do you do it, I wonder at times. This one is simply amazing, D!

    Love! 🤗😘❤️

    Liked by 1 person

      1. No, D. It’s your creativity, the beautiful power of imagery you possess, the wonderful talent that the God has blessed you with. Sadness may accentuate certain emotions, but it shouldn’t take away all the credit just for that. Coz I know you would always be an amazing poet, whether you’re sad or not. 🤗😘❤️

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful as expected MVS. But I struggle with ‘poem is broken’. I don’t know if it’s my sad state right now, but I would look for happiness in you.
    But a flower holds the world 🌸

    Liked by 1 person

  3. You, my dear, can never be a broken poem..even you are shattered in million pieces will have a beauty of its own. So let you bleeding mind and restless body go beserk on paper and create a masterpiece. Love and hugs, dear.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Such a beautiful poem👌.
    The ending lines itself depicts emotions so well. How you come up with such amazing metaphors.
    Seems icing on the cake👌😍

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Oh! This is some virulent void reflected upon and perchance taken care of – I like the visual tapestry of your words. Read your most recent verse too.
    It’s the act of writing which fuels this restlessness or restlessness that paves the way for the act and it shall hopefully go on, for it makes us see beyond the spillage of words and draw poems, albeit broken ones, out of them. Also hoping that it is not at the expense of self.

    Liked by 1 person

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