– a divine dream.
falling forward into the pits of hell,
i call my mind,
my hands slipped through every curtain of sanity,
that hanged just there,
yet i drew away from them until they seemed like petals of a white rose for clouds.
wondering how the landing didn't snap my back in two,
i realised to have woken up in my dream.
that voice.
what is that voice? what are you whispering so discreetly into my ears that i seek your presence?
is this a call of salvation or for damnation that echoes through this empty chapel i dream of?
no, i realised.
these calls,
were of those angels that desperately called me back, asked what is my kind doing?
why is that,
we are destroying what doesn't even belong to us?
when we ourselves,
don't belong to ourselves,
for may not our mouth,
but our souls call out one thing:
"oh god."
YOU ARE READING
swevens of vernorexia
Poésiei shall bloom flowers of love in your heart, so you may bleed petals for blood when i leave.
