Water floods into more water,
Horizons drip into bleeding skies.
The words are fading, blurring, transforming under sunset suns.
Water glistens,
Droplets on my freckles (and scars)
But my skin is on fire;
The world is burning up.
Forest fire.
Flames creep slowly up my porcelain neck;
Contrast in colour is blinding
Like blood on snow.
Heat flickers with amusement at my burning pleas for liberty.
Fire, fire (who cares to help?).
My passion is ignition to infrared flames.
I spin with my arms outstretched
And send my whole universe into smoke.
Smother me,
Cloak me in crimson,
Burn me to ashes,
Please.
-by holly boyd
YOU ARE READING
Words We Cannot Speak
PoetryPoems; Woe and hope, love and despair Poems mend us, they repair. Broken souls mixed with broken minds, Poems teach us what it is to be alive. They offer thoughts to inspire. They give us hope to aspire, They answer unanswerable questions They offer...
