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to be able to feel too much,
to be able to see too much,
and to be able to hold too much,
were never the kaleidoscopic cocktail the world described them to be.
and when you're kitted out with seeing the world in red, the other colors turn malleable.
'let it grow'
'let it bloom'
what about when it bursts?
growing. oh, it's okay, though, isn't it? we're artists. we're insane. psychotic, if you may. should i go on? unstable. derailed. hysterical. chills me to the very core whenever i'm reminded that it's okay for us to be. because us? we're artists, darling.
blooming. the sweet, sweet pricking of thorns made out of our own wrath. anger at feeling too much. raged over seeing too much. furious about having to hold too much.
bursting. we were far too gone, far too early to notice it.
and so it grew;
and so it bloomed.
but nobody told you about the said artist being long dead to see the splash of colors caused by their own bursting.
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*art; craft
YOU ARE READING
delirium
Poetrywhen the darkness outside my window turns gloomier than the one inside me, the words embedded in my chest sparkle like jewels. || poetry collection. ©️2019 by auro m.
