I'm colorblind. My tongue turns into a ruined old phonograph in a perpetual aria to your name, to the way my teeth shimmer under the sun for you, and how hollow my chest would become. If only my friends could rip my lips, they would have been revelling now in freedom from me narrating a novel dedicated to you.
I'm colorblind. Your vibrant reds become green in my eyes the moment you utter a word. Your voice resembled those of sirens. It was a case that a detective could not close; of how it occured. Perhaps it began when you showed your shaft through the screen. Or it could be that I was too buried in a rabbit hole that even now, I have yet to learn these hints. You spin me into confusion and doubt, then laugh with your sweet cruelty.
I'm colorblind, not imbecile. Your alluring tricks have no effect, I'm awake. Let me slit your throat. Don't make this difficult as it already is, I beg of you. Unbind me to your poison. Attempt not to pull me back. I've had enough.
YOU ARE READING
Letters To Nimbus
Poetry[ a poetry collection about breaking and forgiving. ] He admired her so much that the light she emits blinded his eyes, and all he has vanished to oblivion. A mistake he failed to avoid. She saw him turned into something else; it was mournful. To pr...
