January 4, 2012

and I am only this & it s okay

a whirling bare and gleaming garland of incoherent and insane words
a swaying tree of growing, dying and blossoming poetry
a whirlpool with desperate lianas that want to embrace something close to humanity
a blank page woman with more heart than hurt to confess
Forever bleeding the juice of my soul ad libitum
and it’s never enough

Burried screams

silences all bent by the winds of my tormented nights
Emotional landslide
we’re eating petals under suffocating bokeh
and it burns
impossible to spell the hell
January down my feet I will wait for the wisterian dreams
I don’t alleviate the thorny words with tape on my lips
I can’t see
I wish I could
but there are rain and mud in my sheet
fold the pages
see tiny explanation in the corner
in the darkness
and everything hurt when locked in
I wish I could
but I can’t see
I feel the roots of this absence
Transparent bare and frayed
I can’t see her
I can’t savour
There are only ghosts to hear the waves within