When screams gets so high that throats can't keep up,
When hearts do a mic drop against splintering rib cages,
When brains get cloudy and truths gets drugged,
When blood splashes freezing, and veins wrap around,
When creases on palms cause creases on faces,
When winds skim over bodies
like passing expressions of platony,
When guts pull away from ruts
and onto spotless bedsheets,
When blood pools in wrists and aches to be acknowledged,
When God seeks respite and duty becomes drudgery,
When days reek of spite and mutely relish mockeries,
When life seems ephemeral and yet, malignantly unhalting,
When the scarlet of hands makes love to the deep blue of thumbs-
That is when,
You have no way
To rid the blissful pain;
But pick a pen
And try to brave
The torrents in your brain;
And that is when
It fades to grey
And salt wets your remains;
And that is when
You pick a pen
And spill, and spill again.
YOU ARE READING
Blots
Poetry[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
