Your words
float inside venomous lungs
like languid tempests teasing the shoreline,
eager to consume the latest gossip soaked insult
and prod festered buildings until they collapse.
I am not concentrated in melancholy words
nor meaningless conciliatory phrases.
Reconstructed galaxies confine my soul,
effervescent and lacking all worldly relevance.
Why is it that people
consume love on woodfire grills
and drape misery over withered clotheslines?
Hearts are wearisome creatures,
why find love when we can rent it?
If you want we can start again,
level the caustic rain
inside vermillion veins
and reconstruct pitiful mountains out of
desolate waste bins.
Soon the desert will reclaim my throat
and I cannot bring myself to care
whether or not flowers or demons take your place.
Thunder dances across my window
and paints ghosts in your shadow.
YOU ARE READING
Embody Me
PoetryA series of emotional poems that aim to make your soul feel something.
