Apr 2022
very easy to soak in blue
as though a blanket made of shades,
the horrid, musty
smell of your own inertia,
the well that lengthens
inside, perhaps your ribcage
extending, cracking each time
you know you are breathing,
arrhythmic ticks in blue, blue,
but yellow, shapes seep
through your semi-conscious gauze,
name of the day, its contents page
slaps the window like rain-pellets
and the dust
trickles into
a trench
of forgotten
history, and you can see lilies,
yellow glyphs, the way they ****
their heads in the breeze; it is a greeting.
as though a blanket made of shades,
the horrid, musty
smell of your own inertia,
the well that lengthens
inside, perhaps your ribcage
extending, cracking each time
you know you are breathing,
arrhythmic ticks in blue, blue,
but yellow, shapes seep
through your semi-conscious gauze,
name of the day, its contents page
slaps the window like rain-pellets
and the dust
trickles into
a trench
of forgotten
history, and you can see lilies,
yellow glyphs, the way they ****
their heads in the breeze; it is a greeting.
Written: April 2022.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time as part of Savannah Brown's escapril challenge, with which there are prompts every day of the month. A link to my Facebook writing page and Instagram page can be found on my HP home page.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time as part of Savannah Brown's escapril challenge, with which there are prompts every day of the month. A link to my Facebook writing page and Instagram page can be found on my HP home page.
