Dried flowers from yesterday morning
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Once upon a time someone told me poetry was everything that came from the soul
I believed it
This is then the child of insomniac nights and the smell of rotten flowers
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flowers
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Before I Sought the Light I Was: Entangled in the hurricane of carnal desires whilst fighting against the flow-less and time-consuming isolation that tempted me to stay in my place. I was staring at my own reflection for a number of days, hoping that when I blinked, I would see something change. When nothing did I began dancing into my psyche and peeping through keyhole at the center of my mind and through it I saw an endless battle between the perpetual darkness that loneliness entails and the wet roses of lust. I saw a war break out between the icy lands of my heart and the volcanic eruption of my thoughts. The shadows in the corner sending whispers via pigeons that would get caught in jet engines before they could be delivered to an ear eager to listen. As I stared through that peephole, hardly noticing the door, I wondered--and I wandered, until I was unable to distinguish either.
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