Sudden clouds hover
like black crows
over my head,
obscuring the sun
darkening my mind.
Words as sharp
as a butcher’s knife
cut my serenity
into pieces
bleeding to death.
I yearn for
nothingness,
stopping my breath.
I glide into silence,
erasing connections.
Once I had felt loved.
I faintly remember
submerged tunes
of nightingales.


Margherita