Self-Mutilation



My phone is a tool 
I use to hurt myself
Over and over again
Checking and waiting
With baited breath...
Did he reply?

Amazwana

Thumela amazwana

Ukuthumela okudumile osuka kule bhulogi

Ngivulekile

Isithombe
We have limited time to feel And I treasure beautiful summers But all these loose ends can only be tied by you I seek relief from stones unturned  I never thought it was desperation It felt textured in the ethereal  It felt measured in something real It felt like something I could feel But I am unable to explain To capture succinctly the loneliness  That saturates my pain.
Funda kabanzi