nightmare

disturbed

Standard

My wound
is not
framed in
light but
holed in
darkness.
What bleeds
from mortal
bodies is
but sympathy
for what
truly ails
the soul,
whose
mournful sob
and tears
is fated
to remain
forever
silent to
the world;
pouring instead
to fill
nightmarish dreams
hollowed
by the constant
hammering
of regrets,
that refuse to
rest.
That won’t
willingly
embrace
the cool
comforting breeze
of a warm
summer’s day.