I dangle at quaint angles, reaching for eternity...yet afraid to touch it
I hang like seaweed and weeping willows at the periphery of heaven's gaze
I drown in unpredictable vacuums as time ticks, the clock's hand bears the stench of the thorny wreath of my inaction
My metaphors are as food for the devil's palate...I want to be the text of your being...I want to be everything!
I am becoming illegible, gender unidentifiable. Will I, one day, be like angels. Composed of a deafening contour. Inhuman!
About the Creator
Antoni De'Leon
Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content. (Helen Keller).
Tiffany, Dhar, JBaz, Rommie, Grz, Paul, Mike, Sid, NA, Michelle L, Caitlin, Sarah P. List unfinished.
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Thirty (one) and Neither Flirty nor Thriving.
I'm thirty-one and orbiting the same few mistakes like they're landmarks. London is already awake before I am (or before I've slept) - sirens somewhere far enough to ignore, buses sighing at stops, people moving with purpose I can't quite borrow. I lie there for a bit, tasting last night at the back of my throat, trying to remember if I meant to drink that much or if it just...happened again.
By Stacey Vella6 days ago in Psyche
Comments (5)
"My metaphors are as food for the devil's palate" I especially loved that line! Fantastic poem!
Omg wowser
Deeply poignant and soul searching. A unique perspective.
WOW!!!!! That was divine!
This is so profound. Big up