my reflection is painted with the colors of your tongue, shades so vivid and sharp and the reds like fires, the blues the ocean's torrents, painting crimson from sand, screaming like the jagged rocks as they collide with the sea's ferocious waves, currents
dying,
dying,
dying,
and still, i wonder:
why,
when i scream at the mirror,
does my reflection stand still,
instead of screaming back?
YOU ARE READING
un • ravel | poetry
Poetryhe was made of a solar substance so splendid and sumptuous that ethereal stars envied his everlasting existence
