The hum of cars mixing with the crash of ocean waves onto jagged cliff faces.
The meandering whole of my ever-present thoughts.
The undulating darkness that stretches past my outstretched fingers.
It crests like a wave onto the distant horizon.
I am alone.
Cloaked in quiet, sheathed in the soft pastel of my blankets.
The air is thick.
Tangible remnants of crisp seafoam and the scent of gasoline.
I can hear the highway. The cars hissing their quiet screams.
Tires clouding the edges of the atmosphere.
The smell of paper, ocean, ink. The soft press of pages.
In the dead of night, this comfort cloaks the air in a tangible whorl.
The touch of my wrist on paper, my fingertips on ink.
The scent of seafoam and gasoline. The sensation of 1 am.
YOU ARE READING
Infinite Depths | a collection of poetry <33
Poetry"Though our depths be but infinite, we still drown within the edges of our skulls.' A sample of poetry from my officially published book! it's out now on Amazon <3 ☆ [Some of these poems touch on topics such as struggles with mental health and menti...
