Mosaic

I remember the image
Of the bathroom floor.
Mosaic of razorblades,
The chains of regrets,
The pain one forgets -
Lighting the stained glass.

Tears decomposed in a moor
Whispers of the lost amours,
Red bubbles on the bathroom door,
Eyelids, the lands of the poor;
Injuries cut wildy, to the core -
Illuminating the stained glass.

I can still go through
The same rusted door,
And feel the same feelings,
In every awakened pore -
The bathtub has no more ceilings.
Slowly dissipating, then gone,
One by one...

And one by one fears
Are flowing around,
after all these years.
The crippled eyes
And screams of a child -
Echoes in the sink,

Never wanted to be found,
These feelings in a blink.
But as I turn my back, alas!
Crying voices from the past,
Are fading on the stained glass.

Reviews

[Robin]

you have woven dark elements into a visceral image that envelopes the reader . excellent symbolism and I hear your voice .

[Prophecy]

You write like a Russian, with a lot of tragedy. It was really enjoyable, colorful and emotive.

[Distant horizons]

Haunting write. Beautifully done. Whispers of the lost amours...Love it.