I have only my mind's sight to create words that could be carried by winds and air
No sleep induced by nectar, no thick plants grown after a midnights rain
The green and blue of breads do not belong to me
I keep the edges of cliffs sharp in my eye’s lair
For voices sing to me and me myself of flames under my skin
Their muse being the thick plants, their instruments the nectar and their breath of my demise the greens and blues
From the drum in a barrel comes the red that looks blue under the light and heats the tendons of what could be a metal giant
Under the helm, these voices dance in their prison, throwing bolts of lightning, igniting horrors only seen in darkness
From whence these calls came is unknown to the drones clad in blue green and white
I have only these calls to create words
My metal body holds strings of hellfire, leaking lava onto the Yggdrasil of white and touch
This lava turns bees to hornets that sting the branches in which they live when the sky turns to a kiln
Rivers that fall from the ceiling cannot soothe the hornets wrath.
I reach for the celestial lights, my metal hands crude, my fingers outreached. My metal hands. My metal body
That drum aches for a time when it was more than a beat. When it felt more than the emptiness
When it beat with the sound of laughter
I wade through galaxies of blue and green. My hands glide through the stars, feeling the life of each lifeless planet
My legs brush against the serpents of the nebula, baring their teeth, they pierce my metal legs with with fangs of supernovae
Their bright venom fills my body with light that soon becomes black and is ****** into the void of the drum
When I lay my head and close my eyes, nymphs speak to me in voices that leave when I realize them
I keep their messages in my head, unable to discern their warnings from the life inside of my mind
When I wake, I hear them, I remember their distant messages and say them to the rivers of green in the sky, with beds of bright stars
Sending them back to where they came from, telling the nymphs that because I am a metal giant
Does not mean I am not from their same earth
We all swallow our sins
I am no exception
I may be of this mother but I have taken the highest stairway, to the outside, only to see it's slopes flatten and others, reach past the clouds
A poem I wrote when I was younger. It details my mind as I was dealing with drugs, depression, isolation, insomnia and anxiety
I take light inspiration from the poem Kubla Khan