À l’heure du tout à l’image et du buzz sans suite, «l’express» souhaite faire découvrir la plume de poètes, de chanteurs, d’écrivains et de tous ceux qui jettent leur âme sur le papier, et qui mettent en mots des réflexions profondes.

His words were laced with sweet deception,

Hers with real intentions.

The price of peace was too steep to fathom.

The guards went down, the hopes went up,

Innocence was gone in a hiccup.

How could one imagine the sweet talker

Making reality fade much darkerWasn’t a man, but the shape of sorrow,

Stealing yesterday and haunting tomorrow.

Blood was drawn like the sacrificial lamb,

Nothing was left but a photo to hang.

She wept until her bedroom floor

Reflected tides from distant shores.

Fate just watched in still confusion,

For he didn’t know the hurt that followed his illusions.

No face to blame, no voice to name,

Just absence in slow motion.

The dagger was too sharp, the lamb too sensitive;

The instincts weren’t as primitive.

It slid through her skin and down to her throat,

She didn’t live for the mercy, only for the hope.

Accept the charges and plead guilty,

The wolf was only hungry,

The lamb was far too trusty.

Sugarcoat the truth and act a saint,

Fill thy heart with disdain.

Pour the wine and watch shun the light withinTo numb the feeling.

BIO

A 17-year-old writer who explores themes like grief and inner turmoil. She writes to put pain into words, so that others who feel the same know they’re not alone.