Translation

lost in a mist of intuition.
sour berries disguised by smells sweet,
the sky is falling in:
i brush the horror from my face
with pressed powder.
hollow skeletons dance among fleshy hearts,
empty bones rattle in the wind.
whispers catching in the breeze,
haunting my eardrums, marooning my gaze,
enveloping vivid memory.
the salts of eyes lick at my wounds,
watering the bouquet of scars found
deep within chicken-scratched journals.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s