skin is shallow, yet somehow soft and sits where it fits (and even where it doesn't) while bones wish for worms and a plethora of peace.
i collect myself everywhere and even though these lips lack life, i can still last for hours whilst everything changes:
i watch as thoughts tie themselves inside my throat, to crush roars and chip away words that fall as too-white skies within a void of rain clouds and atmosphere. And i drag my own perceived ugliness upright, whilst asking time whether i purposefully plunge myself into corners, or whether reality intentionally lands on its knees for every occasion anyway.
My dreams drip south, to swim as sea amongst ten touches of a hue-harmed self and i play me pathetic, whilst daring my distress to depart this scene.
i appear alive and a little unwaxed, yet i am washed and for the most part, i work...yet still i shroud myself in going, clicking switches inside a skeleton of secrets, while veins control core's calamities, voicing their disdain at my transparent famine
and i can hear positions...so i hold them.
i can lift my torso slightly and breathe through juts of facts and details, so i always know what to say and so facades can stay and the world can leave me be...
i am piece of paper when weather falls wet and you can already see my words dissolving letter by letter, poem by precious poem...until eventually, there'll be nothing left. just paper.
luck won't live here and worth won't stay and i'll finally fade within the frames of bony appearances and still, you will be endeared
because blue-eyes will always tell tales of true love--
the ones where even experts
survive.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
