Plucking nails like petrified petals,
each one tipped in faded gloss.
And they fall silently,
this life is now morbidity.
Wood has splintered within this carcass
of holding, she plucks hair and manifests
a brush,dipping it in the empty socket
of reflection.
Visual metaphors adorn the now
sullen silk interior.
Now hanging like drapes in a
still wind of putrefaction.
Death is a void less experience,
where one must entertain oneself,
for eternity is a long time to captivate myself
in a six by two tomb of introspection.
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 5:39 AM UTC
Plucking nails like petrified petals,
each one tipped in faded gloss.
And they fall silently,
this life is now morbidity.
Wood has splintered within this carcass
of holding, she plucks hair and manifests
a brush,dipping it in the empty socket
of reflection.
Visual metaphors adorn the now
sullen silk interior.
Now hanging like drapes in a
still wind of putrefaction.
Death is a void less experience,
where one must entertain oneself,
for eternity is a long time to captivate myself
in a six by two tomb of introspection.
