do you ever just lay in bed, staring at a dulled screen, wondering. duct-taping thoughts together, flitting through 100 histories, reading 13 bone shards, biting broken lips and curling your palms just 1 more time because everything is ground teeth and narrowed eyes and you just want to let the heavy weight anger anger anger lift from your chest and fly away like the way we said pigs would do. but we said it like pigs would do. pigs don't fly.
can i tell you a secret, whisper it maybe? this was supposed to be numb, unthinking, but now we've got numbers and words. angry words. i think. i can no longer tell the difference between clenched fingers and a battered heart, aren't they the same at this point? i wrote this thinking of stars, now i'm thinking of hellfire and gnashed nebulas.
hey, since this seems to be going nowhere, how about a random fact among millions? how the hell did yellow become my favourite colour? maybe it was because all i've ever known in red and black and blue and suddenly all i want to do is sit in a field of sunflowers while the big star soaks my skin, washing away the filthiness that grows like unwanted mild. i suppose i just want something to hope for in life, a shard of gold among a void of black black black. though let's face it, i'm throwing silver and bronze coins into a wishing well here.
1. no more anger, no more fists, no red, blue, and purple skin. just... no bruises, please.
2. crows feet at the edge of your eyes, your eyebrows don't furrow and scabbed lips easily pull into a kind smile.
3. peace.
— my duct-tape is old and frayed as you can see, my thought are wolves, consuming and running, my mind is a forest, sometimes even i can't find the way out
YOU ARE READING
SUN SETTING
Poetryit was at that time of ruin, that the stars rose from their graves. skytaints | all rights reserved ©
