reading daily zodiac
at 4 a.m.
heavy lidded eyes
riddled by LED
heavily burdened hearts
riddled by the past
to why our hearts
and minds fail
slightly out of alignment
all of the inner workings
of my body chemistry
year of the beast
of my relationships
house of mercury
in my bloodstream
we sit. weary pupils dilate as we watch
the dying day mourn lilac tears onto
eyes widen like it's an action movie
and the night has begun to wake
its warriors - or worse,
it's a documentary, and
someone's burning van gogh's stars
back into oblivion. lord, we're watching
universes fall and bleed
-but the film stops there.
our sentiments are unscripted,
it's just that chill that creeps up our
collars and strokes our
and i daresay, to our sightcaptor
who begins to reach her way in
and withdraw, simultaneously,
i dare speak:
but it's hard to stay cool
when you love the face of the sun
and must sing her to sleep.
"do/not/touch/me" is supposed to have a strike-though but i wasn't sure how to work the formatting.
the electricity posts
in my veins are all broken
and there aren't enough
electrical engineers to revive them.
the atmosphere is getting colder
and the flowers in my tongue slowly whither.
i'm running out of words to use for a the color of your eyes
so im sorry if they turn out to be like anyone else's.
the absence of the tidal waves of poetic awakening
cripples my wrist and fingers until the only way
to get me to write is to bleed.
i want to feel alive
like im a cloud swimming through
the fantastic colors of the sky.
i miss the way ink drips from my fingertips
i want to feel home again.
home with words, with poetry.
laying down on a bed of proses while a piece
sings softly in the background.
that's my hyper-reality, a kind of fantasy
i can no longer find meaning in.
Thine hours shed themselves,
Moment upon minutes upon hour
curtsy to thy shining name,
leaden with embellishments
of snow and americas of golden
Stained time, spilt;
to denounce thine image.
prompt: the sun rising, john donne