The Wound

You gave me a wound that does not dry,
Your touch has given me a bleed,
Inside contorted wry,
Your eyes have planted a seed,
My spirit soaked in rye,
You have become my only deed;
You are the air I breathe; you have become my only food,
Not only are you the thoughts I think, you are my hunger subdued…

Siddharth Pathak | 23rd April 2013
NaPoWriMo Entry #8



  1. This feels unfinished. And strangely that’s the beauty of it.
    It’s like what your saying and what you;re trying to say are different.
    Mystical in way.

    I like.

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