DewaD
DewaD
Jun 28, 2018 · 1 min read

Mud

There was a time where i can smell you on my palm.

Like oil mud, sticking to my bone.

Burned my hand, licked the wound,

There is still no way to escape.

Like an insufferable dissease.

I swear i still taste you.

What’s the worst i could say?

Even lights bend over you.

    DewaD

    Written by

    DewaD

    ॐ | let the day i give up be the day i stopped writing.