Sometimes it is not easy to give
up. You want to know what or
who to belong to. Darkness envelops
hidden parts to this patholigica.
If I cannot see myself, then who is
it that I am residing with? She calls to me
from behind the glass, love is my own
to behold from inside clear eyes.
What do I (want to) know? Who does she
long to be, when only half of the darkened side
decides to rush out these noises. She
watches me as she sleeps.
How can I know what this obscure
creature needs (to be)? Long hair drapes
from the edge of the violet pillow, washed black
from auburn, curls ever pointing down.
The empty is like the clear bluegreen inside
my darkness. She has her own voices, is lonely
from the silence I gave her. It is time she knew again
what their shapes sounded like.
© March 30th 2014
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
Sometimes it is not easy to give
up. You want to know what or
who to belong to. Darkness envelops
hidden parts to this patholigica.
If I cannot see myself, then who is
it that I am residing with? She calls to me
from behind the glass, love is my own
to behold from inside clear eyes.
What do I (want to) know? Who does she
long to be, when only half of the darkened side
decides to rush out these noises. She
watches me as she sleeps.
How can I know what this obscure
creature needs (to be)? Long hair drapes
from the edge of the violet pillow, washed black
from auburn, curls ever pointing down.
The empty is like the clear bluegreen inside
my darkness. She has her own voices, is lonely
from the silence I gave her. It is time she knew again
what their shapes sounded like.
© March 30th 2014
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