wanderers of the dark


I'd write you a poem, but it's too late,
It's cold under the skin, inside the heart,
And a beer is just a minute away,
And you, a million; my words slip away
From my mouth, and my tongue is left longing
For something to fill this emptiness,
It's just another night, it's all a mess,
And all I have to enunciate is morbid silence.

And I'll tell you something, if I could,
It's not the words that hurt the most,
Sometimes, it's the silences that choke
The life out of your lungs, leaving just smoke
To breathe into- the smoke of oblivion:
You try to take it in, to forget, mark under "Trivial."
But it hurts to breathe, to let go, to live.
And it pains to wonder, if all I do is wander with no destination.

wanderers of the dark
Written by Yash Raj Talan

[note to self: you shall always find the right silence for your playlist]

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