What doesn't kill me
Makes the memories stronger.
They surround me,
Towering like titans tilting towards
The thrashing wind-blasted grass
That bends around my ankles
Berates my eyes and dries
The fire in my soul.
What doesn't kill me
Makes the reds redder.
The sun's halo rises brighter,
The crest calls calcified chords
From my lungs, and I cry when the
Rays scatter because the auburn
Purples, blushing pinks, and pretty petal scarlets
Remind me of days
Better left in paintings.
What doesn't kill me
Only binds whatever feathers
Wither within winding waysides
Scrawled through my dreams. They're
Drawn into drafty curtains which flutter
Half-heartedly, with frayed fringes
That fall apart whenever I draw
Them to sleep.
Whatever does kill me
Will be the strongest of all.
I once believed perseverance
Meant preserving the times
That still flicker in the dark.
Now, I realize it's a matter
Of persistence.
Because one day
A stronger vendetta
Will find me
And I'll be too weak.
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.
