his pretty little fingers glide across gently like it was ribbon curling around the jewel ever so carefully,
made of glass- fragile and yet could pierce so fiercely if cracked and crinkled into pieces used to stab at old pains and wounds,
his grasp was of a cloud in the sky, ever so effortless and weighed nothing- he could barely be reached and yet so close to the pools of blue surrounding the force,
the liquid so beautiful, just a flow of perfection- crimson red just continuous fallings of something so precious going to waste
gliding- soaring down his arms until the point of a cliff cutting the journey short,
sounds of his inner thoughts travelled out the cavern that use to be an abyss of silence now open to the trigger of an arrow gauging his heart,
his pretty little words have now arisen to the surface,
words of nothing and yet to him it meant the world-
"im awake"
YOU ARE READING
thoughtless beauty
Poetrymy thoughtless words that i turn into beauty i hope anyway
