#symolism
I have a therapist.
She's been with
me since birth.
Watercolors on my
soul.
She spills black, and
blue; sometimes
red.
Blood is to
bright on the white
page.
I blush for the
both of us.
When all is out for
the caged moments,
I collapse and rest.
I dream in metaphors,
and I taste the
sweetness of her
inner thigh.
Tangerines and treehouses.
I wake to find her slurping on
my soul, I seize her and she
greets me with grief or
gospel music, or
obscure memories of
vaginas long gone.
We take this wild
ride together
forever learning from
our symbiotic bond.
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 10:09 PM UTC
The gears gnaw through hollow bone,
Flesh burned to cinders, breath erased.
The sun is buried, mute, alone,
A corpse that stares from steel and waste.
The rivers choke in copper veins,
Their pulse confined to ghostly code.
The wind is crushed beneath the chains,
Its howls reduced to static, slow.
The past, a shattered thing, decays,
Its truth an echo in the ash.
An old man’s breath is smeared, erased,
His life dissolved in flickering flash.
And still, they sleep, with vacant eyes,
The mass unmarked by fire or stone.
The hour’s toll, a muted cry,
The final breath, a hollow drone.
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 6:55 PM UTC