As I walk through these streets that bite me with fangs of strange eyes,
The air tastes like fear chasing away hope and hollowed dreams.
This place knows nothing of my cries.
I am surrounded by walls of whispered secrets wrapped in a cruel disguise.
My shadow crawls with laughter that splits my tongue,
As I walk through these streets that bite me with fangs of strange eyes,
My own pulse pounds like drums of lost goodbyes.
In this exile, I bleed my silence into strange rivers and streams.
This place knows nothing of my cries.
Each step is a fracture where my courage dies,
Yet sparks ignite beneath the fractured beams,
As I walk through these streets that bite me with fangs of strange eyes,
The night swallows me feeling as a wolf in mournful guise,
Yet still I chase the ghosts of distant dreams.
This place knows nothing of my cries.
If I survive, it will be with fire in disguise,
With pain as my compass, and my heart as the map.
In this exile, I bleed my silence into strange rivers and streams.
As I walk through these streets that bite me with fangs of strange eyes,
This place knows nothing of my cries.
Deborah Usak is a 24-year-old multifaceted creative writer, poet, and essayist. She started her writing journey at the age of six. She holds a B.sc in history and international studies.
Featured image by Ozzie Stern on Unsplash.
