din

Transient being. My moon in a sunbeam. I dream about you… yet my memories. Absent sleep. Killing me deep. Valium. No longer keeps me neat. I wake up each morning, raging, realizing you’re sent from, you’ve been sent for, Lord, I can still scent your, coconut in the wind. Tasting bronzer tint in your cheeks.

Eclipsing. Glitter kiss contemplates, while in terror gates I bathe. Prayer interrogates. Layered trails of separation, trials and gods whim. It’s sick. All, of it is. Whimsical roundabouts, swings used to sing pretty hymns. Their empty discords linger in fragments, dormant unison. Diseased repercussion. I’m thinking.

King. Without his queen. Snapshots of future scenes, back when I could have made a difference. Morphine. It’s nothing. Addicted to your image. Imprints in my lids. Envisaging stillborn lineage. My tongue is acid. Soliloquies within. Scathing epitomes, no amount of stranger sympathy will bring you back to me. Attacks start from scratch, no longer free. Panic stays.

I stagger, stray. Numb. Into another fractured day. And she breaks, “every little earthquake”, sharp intake. Turmoil. Inner state. Violent brave. His blatant mistake. Cupid shoots for love, my bow loots for blasts, famous hate. Shattered arrows grate, graze, fading grey, can’t catch these poison waves.

4 thoughts on “din

  1. These are word splinters, intended to wound & remind that even in hurt words breath & pulsate. But first let me put on some soothing cream!!!

    Like

  2. I’m of the firm belief that a painful & ruptured soul, stifled by a desperate need for healing, wrote this. Bravely done.

    Like

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