She hears the leaves and the night conversing like they never did when she was small like a mouse in dark rage. She knows love brings horror and hollow hand movements that infest the weakest of souls. Time passes so quickly that she never saw her face turn upside down. The coolness of her teeth shakes and shatters her smile, one pain at a time. and further, further down into her internal disorder thrives greed and lust and jealousy that consume all around her. SHe loves to lie. She is more than a hole now, more than an experience collector, now. She is tightly wound thread. No entries and no exits for me. Thickened steps through violent gel make it difficult for me to reach her. To help her escape herself, although she is eternally escaping herself. Sometimes she thinks she is the breeze that made her skin shiver, or the star that refuses to be seen with her naked eye. Expereince becomes light points of pulse that have lost their rythm.
Reason for writing:
This poem encompasses my views concerning our life as humans and how fleeting each breath is. We live every day like there are millions more. However, we must live each moment like it could transform us, because each one does transform us.
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by heavy moma.