the world isn't spinning now
it's standing much too still
and i wonder if it wonders
how we feel, or ever will
like circles of the strangest birds,
vultures swooping for the kill,
the world is sick, but it is not
the only one who's ill.
//
interspersed with the wind is a scattered ray of moonlight. above you, the stars grin like hungry cats. beneath you, the earth breathes softly like a hibernating bear. the world sleeps at night, but the sky doesn't. and you swear you can see faces, all those faces, in the constellations and carved into the trees, of everyone who's ever given up. everyone who's let themself fly without wings. there are strange birds above you. loud, metal birds full of people. such strange birds.
and your lungs suddenly become useless because the air is no longer crisp, no longer sweet, barely even breathable. it's like inhaling cigarette smoke. something is wrong with this place.
CRASHING, BURNING, DYING???
DREAMING???
HOPING???
WISHING???
I HOPE, I DREAM, I WISH, I CRASH, I BURN, I DIE???
VICIOUS CYCLE???
CIRCLE OF LIFE???
CIRCLE OF DEATH???
CRASHING, BURNING???
NEVER LEARNING???
BURNING, DYING???
TERRIFYING???
DYING, CRASHING???
OCEAN THRASHING, THRASHING AT MY MIND???
//
fix me and fix the garden
fix the garden
fix me
YOU ARE READING
crashing??? burning??? dying??? i don't know???
Poetryonism (n.) the frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people's passwords, each...
