maybe
one day
you will find me
in midst of swollen pistils and
abreacted synopsis
of metaphorical conjecture
or maybe
you will not find me,
in the dashes instilled
after each verse
ended
without a period
I am invisible
in the hands of punctured air balloon
and my words
are suicide notes
I leave in the air
as I fly westward
towards
unknown lyrical calenture
and maybe
if I cut open my own melody
and compose dark concoction
of epitomical constellation;
will you be able to find me,
unmitigated
unsalted
and unsaturated
in the brass strings of calligraphic melancholia
maybe I should stop
repeating
the ink over paper insignia
and scorch origami wings
and perish
as I watch
the embers
furbishing me
into a new kaleidoscopic paranoia
________________
HOPE HOPE HOPE
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
PoesíaA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
