I am a mess.
A cluttered room full of
sad dust and stowed away emotions.
In the winter,
I shiver with all my excess baggage
and the piercing, frosty winds.
This woman, that comes and goes-
Unloads her haunted antiques
Off her achy and raw shoulders.
And she will return in the summer.
The heat shall suffocate and sting me
Even in the most joyous season.
I wonder- if she would ever part with these
Medieval, Gothic symbols
that fester her spirit with Shura.
Sometimes in the mirages,
Her head splits into three
And each face telling a separate story.
I pray that those hungry ghosts
Will be banished from her spirit.
And the Wheel shall finally turn
to begin my pilgrimage to the Moon.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 6:34 PM UTC
I am a mess.
A cluttered room full of
sad dust and stowed away emotions.
In the winter,
I shiver with all my excess baggage
and the piercing, frosty winds.
This woman, that comes and goes-
Unloads her haunted antiques
Off her achy and raw shoulders.
And she will return in the summer.
The heat shall suffocate and sting me
Even in the most joyous season.
I wonder- if she would ever part with these
Medieval, Gothic symbols
that fester her spirit with Shura.
Sometimes in the mirages,
Her head splits into three
And each face telling a separate story.
I pray that those hungry ghosts
Will be banished from her spirit.
And the Wheel shall finally turn
to begin my pilgrimage to the Moon.
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