icHor nostAlgia | [poetry]

ii. manibus

[] Confession: I wonder how long it takes a perfect mind to combust.

°There are hands on me
tree roots that sprout
through my body to
replace my shallow veins

There's a fire brewing°
in the sparks of a flame
that burns down forest.

°Oceans are poured down
but cannot quench it.

°I AM ILLOGICAL. on the stairwell that keeps circling and owning elbows that have been scratched so deep, brittle bone weeps out chunky blood...

°I AM THE HANDS ON ME !
THE LOVER THAT I IMAGINE IS
ONLY DRIPPING AWAY ON
THE LEASH THAT MY MIND
HOLDS MY HEART ON

I AM UNHEALTHY°
ON THE DESERT ROAD THAT

DOESN'T EQUAL DESSERT

°IN THE OPEN ARMS OF
CLOSED OPINIONS,

IN THE CLOSED ARMS OF

MY WORDS:

°THEY DON'T MAKE SENSE
OUT LOUD,
THEY DON'T MAKE SENSE
ON PAPER.

°I DON'T MAKE SENSE OUT LOUD.
I DON'T MAKE SENSE ON PAPER.

i am small. °
i am large; an
anigmatic mind in a
ingrandious perspective of an
ordinary body.

BUT I AM NOT CLOSED IN MY BODY.
I ROAM BEYOND.

☄

Note: Much love everyone!!!💓<3333