— a poem of potpourris.

The Panacea

I don’t mind how, at times, you taste bitter.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

I can feel the
intensifying intoxication
as you float my worries away
alongside the gentle stream.

I can feel the blood
ceased its ever-rushing flow —
as you kiss the wounds goodnight
For once, they stayed inside.

I can feel the how they fade;
all the stitches remained intact.
Although you said I shouldn’t be afraid,
I refused to be attached.

Yet I love how you treat me right —
and how you make me neglect:
that I’m a mere corpse
they all tend to forget.