WOUNDS

Yes I'm a bit wasted, for I exhale intoxicated clouds;
Whose radiant curve perches my mouth,
Like a bird getting hold of its ground for the first time.
The urge to fly is extreme, bur society stings it's teeth in my ankle,
while the other foot is helpless and still airborne,
I see blood gushing out in a great hurry, and a little talk with it
told me, that it too felt imprisoned in those veins,
and flowing continuously tires it, as it wishes to attain solidity,
Teeth leaves a permanent dent,
impregnating my thoughts to solidify too.



DO GIVE IT A SHOT.