I can't help seeing her as more captivating than the full moon at the end of June accessorised with jet stream boas
She drove a wedge between me and reality until she and only she became
normality
and for a while there I actually believed in angels :
that cynics were frustrated souls imprisoned in themselves and I had been saved by a passing carriage with a reserved ticket to be cynical no more but as blissful as an emperor bathing in his very own river
And when she left she didn't close the flipping door and all that replaced her was a freezing wind that sliced me like a guillotine crystalised into a sheet of ice not once or twice but with serrated vindictiveness thumping me back into the monotonous hole of rigmarole across parched jagged rocks to the barren riverbed I came from
But I got wrecked on the rocks
No comments:
Post a Comment