You short poem

Look at me.
I am a series of defeats.
I have no small victories.
I have no frame
or bones or flesh
for my sad soul to cling on to.

I am hungry, empty
in a world that seems contempt
to exist as if I never did.

I am cold, barren, raw
my screams fall on deaf ears and so I weep
I wallow, I whisper

“I want you still”

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20-ish. South African. Student in Languages and Culture.
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Reyvrex Questor Reyes

A beautiful and modest affirmation of capabilities and limitations one could feel. In the end, the sad state of having been snared in love’s web is acknowledged. Write more.


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