(Tear as in the verb, not the noun. Or is it both?)
You tear the mask from your face
milky ribbons fluttering to the floor
crumpled underfoot with notes
of an ancient melody floating upon
invisible strings hung in the air
caressing the myriad of constellations
upon your skin as whispers echo
creasing the folds of your skin
beneath cold fingertips and tearing
the pale scars drawn upon
a canvas of forbidden sky
YOU ARE READING
夏思い (Thoughts of Summer)
PoetrySummer. I've been writing more poems than prose, which is something that has been a hassle for me and my current projects. But the poems are just born from my fingertips in bursts of ink, so I can't just put them back from whence they came. They wan...
