Untitled 4
wreathed in silent torment
waking moments snap
at each breath of air
gnarled
echoes of pasts filter by
sleep eludes
weaves and teeters
numbing the weary mind
awake each thought
like splintered thorns
assault the dead of night
dreamless
devoid of hope
shorn of light
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
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