when morning comes my heavy eyes are open
staring sightlessly into the soft dawn sky
when midday comes, my pallid cheeks are damp with rain
flushed in shades of bruises; indigo & yellow-green
when nightfall comes my pupils gape, reflecting the starry sentinels above
my clammy skin hidden, swaddled in a blanket of moss
when midnight comes, my filmy eyes are open
and i am still here, as forever shall i be
YOU ARE READING
collections of constellations and the stars || poetry collection
Poetrypoems often written at midnight, each telling its own story. an anthology of sorts. grammatically incorrect use of lowercase is an aesthetic choice and intentional. |incomplete|
