Lately, I feel as if
Something's hidden.
Tucked somewhere
Above my head,
Twisting my hopes
Cannibalizing my thoughts
Until I feel vertigo and gloom.
It's like I'm not in control,
Like what's haunting me isn't real,
But it is. Like an instinct.
Like a raw, untethered power
With little conscience,
And less soul.
Like a frigid night
Full of translucent stars.
Some days, it's worse.
Like my bones are chewed,
Like the marrow's turned to lead,
Like they pull me down into the urchins
Who'll splinter their arms
Pierce my spine
And puncture my lungs.
The feeling makes every sun warmer,
Until my eyes burn and my cheeks
Are torn like rocks carved in magma.
I'll look anywhere,
For anything besides this wet fear.
In the darkest of nights I'll pray,
Begging even the stars
As if they whisper up there like gods.
YOU ARE READING
Blood As My Ink
PoetryEmotions, beliefs, dreams, and imagination run through the body. Like ink they flow through the vein and, every now and then, it decides to run out.
