I feel that so many worlds
each one easily contradicting
worlds which never touch, yet bleed into each of the journeyed roads
uprising choking dust, showers of fire
always coupling the icicles which hang
never to touch the sun, or taste the moon
which seems to always embrace the stars
mourning pool of moments unlived
cradling the ache and unspoken desires which truly never subside, they await the unleashing
praying for peace, yet craving to be uncaged
a continuous collision of hot and cold
squeezing the heart like a monstrous vice
each beat reminding the other of the
knives that slice through each layer
even those which have yet to be fully touched, breathed upon or kissed by the lips of
the world that is never really quiet
a venomous potent which often saturates the pulsing veins
stirring behind the masks and in-between each fracture
wanting to run, yet needing to fall
a world where words can’t be found, yet thoughts are plenty
dying to be saved, yet never wanting to be truly found
the truest enigma vibrating through every chamber
shadows which hide in the trees
questioning the depths of each burst of dancing fog
passion which saturates the roots, yet is cemented in the rich soils
ponderings dance in the rib cage
too many hands, which have touched in all the wrong spots
so much pressure - pressing in places that never asked to be stained by deceptive fingerprints and dirty mouths
human-shaped drugs tickle the tongue
only to be reminded of the continuously
love, the taste of bile spewing up the throat
always pausing never to fully digest its perplexity
which clash;clutter;clunk;brush
sitting upon the foundation
yet reaching for the devil
© ScriptedSilence. All rights reserved
theartofmadeline
2087
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