NAPATSORN TREESAP

Sensational Suffering— trying to seek its own way of recovery 
Torment tortures my own grief— to be worse—
The stab of an icy disloyalty is killing me slowly 
On this frozen floor at a witching hour 

The scattering of faith was stamped by my mistake 
Blood was bleeding, dropping to the surface
Would it stop bleeding for just ephemerality?
I’m frightened as if the wounded bird in Winter 

Suffocating— in the essence of the spirit
Shivering— on a frosty edge of grief
Longing for the glimmer of the moon
Without doubt, the death is naming my name

Crawling to drag me down of this edge of grief
Echoing that everything will vanish into peace 
Just let my soul fall down to the deepest darkness ocean
And rest peacefully in my own grave

© 2021 Napatsorn Treesap