Twists of curling smoke
and the merge of stagnant colours,
now weave a concrete blanket,
that cloaks the blind eye's vision.
As if a melting flame, had burnt the swollen lens,
that captured blurry photos, from corners of the room.
Turning tables spin in an antique fashion,
loosing all control, as drugs pump through my veins.
Light headed thoughts, are all I can remember,
while inhaling stagnant clouds
that twist like curling smoke.
A contest entry
- Let Them Eat Crack by polly filla.
875 points, ended February 11, 2009, 6 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
what do you think?
Comments
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Good description, spoiled by the spelling error in the title though.
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wow, this is really spins, and you were so discriptive, nicely done and good luck
Stephanie ♥
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