My words fidget-
a resonance so shrill
it continuously escapes me-
like damselflies careening
over bitter pools.
–
My heart is a skiff
chasing storm-tinctured skylines.
Its vacancies easily doused
I fight for breath underwater.
–
I have a knack for anechdoche,
for transmigration but wherever I go
it is to that same backlit frame that I return,
a motherless fetus exhumed.
–
The damage is mostly internal.
Eternal, I propagate my faults
though the addition
only serves to diminish.
–
Where do I even begin. I am having trouble facing certain realities/situations and I have sort of shut down emotionally which is making writing difficult. Also because I have been writing less frequently I am feeling uncertain and out of sync.
mindlovemisery 