Hubristic words in a blocked cavern
ricocheting off the rock walls.
The call is coming from inside the house,
and a detached part of me understands:
to delude myself is to survive the dark.
To feel sunlight breaching the cracks,
is to imagine myself honey-gilded.
To build castles of cards and imagine a draft,
is to orchestrate a prelude to collapse.
And still, my bones shiver me tender.
And still, I laugh with my whole chest.
YOU ARE READING
Blood Orange Periphery / 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘺
Poetry❝The calm in my marrow spoke in muted bursts of fireworks. I was born for explosions and trying to be less.❞ Over the past decade, I've written poems, books, short stories, fanfiction and hundreds of thousands of words, but nothing felt complete. Th...
