The house crumbles under the weight of the wind. As it speaks too many tales, and reminds you of too many blood sheds. The metallic scent clings to your nose. Your eyes are gouged and your irises drip down your crackling bones that are trying to reconstruct themselves. Your hair disintegrates under the touch of the sun. Your skin marks itself into shades of colours by the hits of the rain. Your mouth swallows itself full drowning in the lies you were going to tell. Salty tears remind you of the ocean and burn into what's left of your skin. This feeling carves into the familiarity of looking into an old lovers eyes. And just so, it is heaven and hell.
December 3, 2017
YOU ARE READING
Aggressively Distant
PoetryRiddles aren't fun if they are burnt out too soon. Enjoy the game. I know I will too.
