09.25.18
dedicated to dullness
the time still ticks with the spring of an arrow. my skin still feeling the breeze of the wind brushing against my smile plastered face. the colors still seen but the colors are less vivid. my whites are bare eggshells and blacks are now greys.
is this what seeing through a veil looks like? though there isn't a person waiting for me at the end of the room. deflate this blurry vision like thick smoke in the busy streets of the city. mindless people breathing clearly and have adjusted it to their clarity.
their hands reaching out but there is nothing to hold onto. a frail petal of buoyancy in the midst of flaming water.
YOU ARE READING
sᴇʟғᴛɪᴛʟᴇᴅ | ˡᶦᵗᵉʳᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ
Poetryjust poetic rants and love letters slow updates ongoing. mixed literary works
