Deep trenches, the open and groaning waters. Yawning whirlpools. Fear inspiring, deeply spine chilling
They say they are windows to the soul
I see them as mirrors
I bear witness to every whisper of terror within my skull
even when I merely glance at your oceanic sockets
They bubble, and wash, lapping over reason and thought, wrinkled tissue guarded by bone.
All consuming.
When I heard of this feeling, I thought I would be strengthened by it, emboldened.
But I am blown over by a tidal wave, crushing and foamish, stained turquoise glass and deep-cut azurite.
A yawning trench I am met with, and I refuse the dive, even while knowing it is all I could want.
For I could drown
And that possibility cripples me beyond words.
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Poetry
General FictionVarious poems about all sorts of things, nature, romances, ill-fated and beautiful ones, pain, death, open-hearted caverns and tight ones. The long and short of it... The poems could be about literally anything. Some of the content may be a little...
