My body is encased with solitude.
My head is filled with helium.
Tied around my neck in a taut thin bow.
Restricting my movement of eagerness.
My lungs are filled with the greasy flesh of my demise.
The kind that makes me choke and splutter.
The kind that makes me suffer.
The kind that makes me draw a crooked smile.
Staining my porcelain mask with permanent ink.
My mind can't recollect the time I laughed or cried.
Or when I attach myself back into reality.
My throat is bare.
These words can't seem to reach the surface.
Or fill the empty hole that crumbles and grows inside of me.
These words just coil themselves around the vines of my thoughts.
Ceasing fire.
© P O R C E L A I N | MAEBONOCH
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Poetry[COMPLETED - 2022] "My thoughts lay sprawled out on the floor for people to gawk at - to form harsh judgement and for me to gain what I deserve. I give you my condolences for ruining your last train of momentary bliss." Hello! If you have any compla...
