Wordle #211

211

I scry in blood,

In the rattle

Of a receding breath.

Untraceable sins

Spill like thieves

From my hollows.

My face is a web,

A halo of plaster

And mute resolutions.

I reach my hands

Into your straying gait

But nothing sobers

As hindsight and I am

Already too late.

The creek drums,

A chilling cry.

I pull threads of silver

From knowing ghosts,

Chains as feeble

As human logic.

For

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11 responses to “Wordle #211

  1. Ha. Our logic certainly fails us as times. I would def consider it fragile.

    Have you watched any of the Vikings TV show? The opening put me in mind of it.

  2. I love this part:
    “Untraceable sins
    Spill like thieves
    From my hollows.”

    And also that “rattle” suggests to me that you feel like a baby in some way … lack of control, desperate for basic needs to be met, unable to communicate effectively, etc. I see birth and death, new life and suicide, sitting together in a crib/coffin.

    “mute resolutions” … Love the rhyme in this.

    I hope everything went well and that you’re recovering well, sweetie. Take care of yourself!

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