I
tourniquet tortures
take bloody descriptions
exactions are diminished
with feathers victim to filtration
heart bleeds so damn empty
if only blood would splatter
and redden some of the scenery
which stabs somehow disproportional
then perhaps time would have less friction
and nothingness wouldn't rub raw against me
II
poetry is attainable grail
as myriad thoughts emanate from stone
porous to possibly
So now then
there is hope
born of joined bits of brevity
III
everything blends into
beginnings, middles, and endings
while the world is stuck on repeat
but the heart feels things
so far removed from linear
and never misplaces even shattered patterns
often found in the darkest of places
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
maralisa
