Author Information
10
It could have been hate at first sight,
when you looked down into my inactive volcano of a soul
with empty glass eyes that could have refracted
rainbows onto my face.
For months I’ve wished flames would engulf
every corner of my mind,
so the shame of your reproachful stare
could burn in a fiery hell.
The dead but restless prayers of drowning
stir when you break tranquility with storms in paradise.
I love raindrops when they moisten and mold
clay masks into the expressionless failures they disguise.
Reflections in puddles obscure blemished reality
with bent images of omission at any given angle.
Every misrepresentation behind your crystal eyes
looks like every quality I hate,
and I can’t see pictures in the clouds
like I used to.
And 42
For two? But of course! ;)
I really like this:
"It could have been hate at first sight,
when you looked down into my inactive volcano of a soul
with empty glass eyes that could have refracted
rainbows onto my face."
Reminds me of this from The Canary Turnip Chronicles:
Body of the chief,
No definition
Wavers in between hues
Rainbows gone idiosyncratic
Pots of lead at the end of its cylindrical shaft
Entangled within inbred belvederes
Also this line grabbed me too
Reflections in puddles obscure blemished reality
with bent images of omission at any given angle.
I'm going to go back outside. Keep a look out. ;)