The Only Flow.
Fig leaves and apricots
Maple seeds and blood clots
All up and cozy in my head
The green scenery and the bloodshed
No water in my throat
None what-so-ever in my eyes
It reeks with dryness,
Dullness, it's only design
I have no say
I have no fears
Except perhaps one or two
Of coming across people
And masquerading
Like they all do
So I close my eyes
And the dried leaves crunch
And the rotten apricots stink
And the maple seeds die
And the blood clots, they burst open
And my eyes stay closed
And the screaming stops
And the squirming ceases
The air, it stills
But the teardrops, the wicked tears,
Resolute, stay in.
-j.t.
YOU ARE READING
The Chaos Inside.
PoetryAbsurd may be the tale I tell Ill-suited to the marching times I loved the lips from which it fell So let it stand among my rhymes -John Keats. It is difficult to get a hold of what's going on insid...
