Entropy Poem by Kelvin Ofeimu

Sometimes I feel like a museum keeper. A big, empty museum where no one visits and I protect it from no one, only myself.

There are crevices in my palms. An evidence of all broken things I have tried to hold together, but has length to call it's self a cenotaph of tragic endings.

On some night whimpers are the only lullaby I sing to myself. There is music to my nightmare too, a pentatonix of suicide notes I have carved in my head.

My diary is a necropolis of happy things, the last dwelling place of the things that once made me smile.

There is no light in this poem, you should have stopped from the first line. All that is left are just ruins of all our things.