Drycleaned

A cup of thoughts

Left out under the redundant shine

Of the sun.

Evaporated

Into the heavens

As one long breath:

Exhaled for no other reason

Than to inch me

Closer to my prescripted Death.



I perish by the clock.

Watching the minute hand

Tick, tock.

And re-examine the seconds

That fly by

In an attempt

To snatch them

From the sky high

Where they soar

And employ a different shade of actions

Upon them.



But I'm dead weight.

Can see the glass door ahead

Yet...

Been standing on the same tile

For a bitter while.

Fears of stepping

On fresh cracks

Send chills up my fucking back.

And so I'll hold still

For a little longer

Hoping an angel's voice will descend

And make me stronger -

Awaken the stranger lodged deep

Within me...

Before I bend

And break

And choke

On the same saliva and smoke -

Clouding up my pupils

Since the day

My soul was invoked

Into the stream of Eternity.



Now my doubts

Will flow...

I regret to tell you,

I fear

I can never be sincere

Again...

That I can never veer into

The flames of beauty and pain

That once had scented my soul

With a burning aroma --

A whiff of cooking up

The boiling of my basic personas.



But I swear

By Holy Hell

And requiem bells

That I will try and fight...

I want to bleed tonight.

Erase and clean what I have seen

And drip anew

The crimson metaphors

That spew upon your angel carpet --

Leaving stains of the refrains

I wish to shatter,

Across your apartment...

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Sara Hill's picture

there are no words...