Blackhole Poem by Bilal Khoukhi

My heart is a haunted room
A womb, destined to be sterile
A flower that can never bloom
Ceased it is, in a deceased body
Don't say it, I know I am doomed
That's when you settle for less
I learned my lesson, no gas, no fume
A gasless gas chamber, and no fire
No windows, no door, what is justice
A restless mind, my dos were reckless
My don'ts were to escape in the distance
The story to be resumed in a haunted room
Without his bride, sits the groom, crying
He knows the truth, yet, tries not to assume
His past written in the bottom of his shoes
It follows him, everywhere he goes
No ghost, only memories floating in the gloom
Death touches the skin, at this young age
Or was it rage that turned it ninety-eight
As death, through the hair ran the comb
Not as wise, but so white it became
Like the hearts of the people he presumed
Had much decency, their hats had a displume
But hey, they buried him alive in this tomb



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