Molly


How would you describe the fear of loss?
Or perhaps the silence of defeat?
Is it a prolonged battle of picked nervous circulation?
Can we build an escape route from agony?

Words, the magic of tiled impression
Rearranged neatly as if you wouldn’t mind
Asking for another spoon of desirable dialogue
Trembling in severe methodology

Actions, the investigatory wilderness
Of a lonesome detachment series
Impersonating the Jester while your
Pocket is crowded with begged rumors

Regrets, the invalid peaceful projection
Of questions between life, death and quantifiable vision
Carved like ancestral remedies
Inside the language of human gestures

Dancers, in graceful monopoly of shadowboxing
Tip-toeing behind knitted black curtains
Struggling to explain love through violin notes
Uncontrolled breathing gaps, then you were gone