She wears the sky like a smile,
two soft fists of stormlight
where her eyes should be—
fog rolling into her sockets,
her pupils swallowing your
will to survive.
She’s a child playing peekaboo
with the world’s attention span
what you can’t see—she does
and will bruise you with it.
The truth—a submerged body,
a river bending its shoulders,
its slow hunger against your
secret desires for her pain.
Her mouth—red as muscle,
against your pale intentions,
tight-lipped siren bracing for
the moment the sky breaks
you wide open.
And what happens when—
the light pours in like knives,
the world sharpens her heels,
her mouth swallowing storm
your heart bleeds for her.
If you would like to see what she looks like. I painted the digital art first and used it as inspiration.
Clouded Vision—Marc Morais
https://prnt.sc/brM_2HFNk72b