Words sometimes fall from me like a lonely waterfall carving out the rocks in worn down desperation it is easy to create myself with artistic passion I can cut every flaw into the bones that hold me up pick me apart like an old moth eaten sweater and still be left with the beauty of dandelions in the wind I see beyond the conversations carried in grey pockets lacking rainbow skies or the energy of fork lightening like boardroom yawns falling onto a clinical desk that I want to paint in a language they can only dream give them a bellyful of poetic candy with a tempest force watch their eyes swirl in the delight of my powerful pen I can pull mystery from the edge of lips in tendrils of mist crawling across a silent ocean evoking an apparition of the breathtaking kind commanding the shore in ghost waves meeting the jagged rocks with a hard kiss like passionate lovers wet and wanton until torn apart with memories left sleeping on the bed of bleeding hearts words are my lead pencil spine curving to my requirement my bleeding ink that can form cryptic parts of my hidden self like the shy girl that lost her innocence to the harsh beat of reality they are the sharp release that opens my vein in a beautiful agony or the butterflies in my gut waiting for me to write their freedom I want to write myself into every empty corner and make it radiant
Posted on: Tue, 20 Aug 2013 04:26:43 +0000
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