#prose.from.a.rose.: FIFTEEN
My inner me wants to point the gun at me,
but I don't know if he can see,
that we both play a part in everything we bleed,
we both decide where to plant our seed.
Want to question me on my absence or neglect,
silence yourself, don't blame me if I'm a litter dimmer than the other lights in the room.
Blame my blocked nose that tries to kill me but fails
when it realises it keeps on forgetting about my mouth.
I keep thinking who I'd be
if it was open,
another me,
or would I be more broken?
Am I taking cover, inside and under with glee
or am I superb, outspoken?
And I feel that past pain in my leg coming back like I'm not changing,
can't you see we're all morphing because we don't know how to defy the laws of the universe?
Why would we want to, when forever is a never-ending death sentence?
I'd rather live out my precious seconds. Rather scrape the gold off with my cut nails at this point.
I could always use my imagination
but that would be cloaked deception.
I don't want to mess around with my own perception.
Trying to be a wizard with a wand with this fabrication.
I don't know if I'm getting too comfortable,
trying to ease into every new chapter of my life.
Don't want to be thrown in like a rock intended to hurt someone.
No, that's what are comets are for, wiping us all out,
that's what annunciation is for when you have to go out there and shout.
That is what four is for that's what the numbers are about,
that's why my ocean's so large you could drown in it.
Drown in it.
Drown the blame,
drown the blame in my ocean.
Drown the blame in it,
do it quick,
it has been blessed with breath too.
I don't know what you're waiting for,
drown the blame in my ocean,
lay it like a dead fish at the bottom of the sea,
then retreat like an independent free bird, free.
Now there's no gun in your hand,
It's gone.
This battle I seem to have won.
But I must rise from my pillow now, for the best.
Even though all I want to do is lay my head to rest.
Rest, just a wish, an incapability.
Rest, something I steal from myself.
Rest, killed by my own addiction.
Rest, go and get some or lack rest.
Rest like you rested the blame in my ocean.
Hush, rest now, and dreaming of dreaming, of the clock on your wall in the backdrop, broken, its hands forever pointing to the ceiling while you're frozen but there's not a spec of ice on your skin.
Stuck in 6:30 like a curse or a break like you hit pause like how you know I don't know how to yet.
Let your visions your dreams reach you how.
Drop to rest like 6:30, like the blame at the bottom of the sea, like fallen stars, like you and me and night, surrender, willingly.
Surrender to gravity.
Surrender to your desire of sleep,
because you always keep yourself up at night, wasting the night away, throwing the blame around in your mind like a hot potato.
Rest the blame, drop it. Let it go like the hands of the clock were let go to drop to 6:30.
Drop
it
like
this.
And
rest.
YOU ARE READING
Prose from a Rose
PoesíaMy first collection of prose. Though I have written prose before, I have finally decided to publish some pieces of my prose here on wattpad. I usually write poetry and already have three poetry books here on Wattpad. The first being 'Poetry by Eclip...
