The overwhelming scent of calendula traces the ashen edge of your eyelids,
Back and forth the dark
You bask in the warmth of its burning.
Slowly, the wind flowing downward the garden in your throat,
passing by the vines growing to tightly suffocate you.
The corners were full of uncoloured peonies,
and the middle were full of thorns
Right at the bottom is where carnation blooms desperately needing air.
The wind passes, down and down
Through your lungs, but you and your entirety still cannot breath.
YOU ARE READING
Unsaid
PoetryOnly the stars can witness how my sanity collapse, only the oceans running waves across my flesh can watch how slowly, in certainty, how I fall apart.
