there is a taste of bitterness
with the absence of solidarity.
the distance between the mirror and reality
draws the border of an exempt paradox.
with the sip of dark syrup, a new image begins to undress,
an image with darkness, my lifeline’s entity.
however, with the blindness of opaque,
a shard of clarity injects my voice box,
wake and observe,
the coldness in my veins, the blood on my hands.
without doubt, without grace, become liable.
“I’ll be good.”
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
there is a taste of bitterness
with the absence of solidarity.
the distance between the mirror and reality
draws the border of an exempt paradox.
with the sip of dark syrup, a new image begins to undress,
an image with darkness, my lifeline’s entity.
however, with the blindness of opaque,
a shard of clarity injects my voice box,
wake and observe,
the coldness in my veins, the blood on my hands.
without doubt, without grace, become liable.
“I’ll be good.”
Request permission to use this poem