the melted snowflakes drift swiftly down my blank canvas. i suppose I've thawed enough stand up again. i suppose I've thawed enough to walk further.
"wet."
there are many more snowflakes than I would've imagined before,
what a hazy vision,
sweet thin decisions
lacking proficient provision
with lack, what is left to wait for?
the burning sensation of this spring snow against my summery lips, like sugar on toasted autumn leaves. life's crinkling away from me, more and more.
life has become nothing more than just a faint memory. my effervescent tears have become so deep, I tread. I tread. I tread.
until the end of the sidewalk is near,
and the pavement is grass,
And the grass is dirt,
I cannot do more than I've already tried to do for myself
so what's left of me? or what's left to do?
hanging carelessly above this empty world along these mile long plastered walls of painted smiles
i don't even know where to start.
do I start with daisies in may weather?
or maybe humid breaths, and soft-spoken words
left with nothing to lose. I'll watch your fingers run through grass, and scrape across moss
we are burnt thorough and thin.
rough tree bark peeling from the outsides of our hearts, with every pounding in our chambers
a never-ending melody of broken bells, and pretty glass
it rings forever in the end
as the skin goes cold,
as the eyes grow empty,
not an itch or a sore left to feel,
when it's so cold
like bodies that stop growing
as the world continues to grow old
i re-freeze my repairs to unthaw once again,
i re-freeze and preserve to unthaw once more
YOU ARE READING
pieces of me
Poetry"I have written you down, you will live forever." ~ A poet from Bastille . . . . . . . . Excerpts of a busy bee 🐝 [i write purposely without capitalization, and am not worried much about having ideal structure. i am a happy potato, please...
