Wednesday, May 23, 2018

H i r a e t h

I am carelessly running
into things that remind me
of you.

Being here,
inside myself,
has never felt safe -
I am slowly walking 
on the tip of my toes
hoping I won't bump
into memories of you;

You're made of a nostalgia
I'll be feeding on with hunger
and I won't stop,
I can't stop
until I'll wolf
everything down
to the last
could have been.

First poem written in almost 2 years - walking home with the headphones in my ears. I cannot recall the songs. Random inspiration. 

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