My delusions;
hibiscus carcasses
leaving the path red
my footsteps wary,
visible.
The petals stick
to the balls of my feet
soft
& somehow cynical.
Their beauty, unimaginable
I write for eons
on my delusions.
They laugh and they paint
they paint my path red
hibiscus carcasses -
my delusions.
Holy they are
untouched & pure
my delusions.
Till I step on
with my words
make them bleed
pigment
under my feet
I tread quite brazen
on my delusions.
A red river
of destruction,
scentless, the words
hang in the air,
pungent.
It's hard to breathe
when I look back
on my path
it's marked with red corpses
of my delusions.
Oh art, what have you done
choosing my words as the sun
they're not gentle.
Hibiscus carcasses,
they lay motionless
my words stuck
in them like blades
I have killed
my own delusions.
I look at my feet
and I cry words for tears
what a terrible mistake;
to write on my delusions.
YOU ARE READING
Words that escaped
PoetrySometimes I think of a word and sentences follow. Poetry is emotions that escape through these words. Give these poems a read, pretty please! I write with all my soul.
