my perception wavers
my senses filled with wraiths

over the windowsill
i see you walking
as the sound
of church bells trip
down the hills
falling at your feet

unaware you step over them
on your way to your glass
house filled with orchids
you've heard nothing
nothing

I smell roses rotting under
my window and there's
a placenta over the moon

it stretches it's mouth
to cry its soft mewling infant's tears
but the garden is dead
and nothing
but nothing
will
bring
it
back


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/18/2016