Upon this tightrope I walk
Razor blades form each tangled mass
Unequivocal my thoughts of you approach
With a steel honed scalpel you bared the ropes
And roulettes formed on my destiny’s path.
Lethargic my mind has turned out to be
Fallow my heart has become
I’ve turned a prisoner in my own war
I’ve become a refugee in my camp
I’ve turned a welcome guest in my own house.
With that pierce on my thoughts’ vein
I gushed in reds as my thoughts flow in jet of blood
How much of these stains can you cleanse?
Copyright © Chuma Okonkwo