I awoke, a startled wreck, angered by passing visions oppressing my brain, a vice bring fourth so much pain.
A glass showed my left nostril, a ruin in disguise, a slight trickle of blood, lovely and happy before my rest full eyes.
I could find so much in that one lonely, running drop, it made me stare in wonder, it made my life just stop.
Of it's origin I wondered now; was this the product of bitter cold, digging and tearing my sinuses like a plow?
Or perhaps I could look more close in the red and come to find, my grasping vice was no mere creation of the mind.
Squeezing gripping, I can feel gentle nerves ripping.
Oblivious to my self-made trap, caught in my own web, I forget my only clue, laying red now in my lap.
i started writing this while watching a movie about sylvia plath. it's not finished, but i would like to keep it here where i know it wont get accidentally tossed away.
Comments
-
I love it. It's so wonderful. I adore it.
Adding your comment:
