Slow

10 rzeczy, które w końcu możesz zrobić w domu w czasie kwarantanny | RiE World

Slow as a neighbour’s plant
vindictive, timid.
Slow as a ripple static
hush.

An oblong wax melting away,
slow,
slow as raindrop stuck on a tree

As a splash of colour unable to blend
a monologue twirling inside my stomach
a song so old
with cough drops all around the drawers

dying
slow
dying

repetitive
insipid
Once a melody
now only an arm
now only a forehead
nothing at all

A nightmare in blue
It knows nothing now
only a flat desperation of air
The feet knows the crevices of life.
Look carefully..
there!
A small dot and a fanned breath of a leaf.

Slow.

Recurrence

Excrusius

A death star dissects my white bare skin

And lanterns of judgments evolve like the zombies of oblivious sand

The peppermint of the next hour circulate in my iris,

Unconsolidated reverie of prayers,

asking the same coherent word.

Promises, a fallen star, destruction

all are in symmetry if one leaves other stays

Inch by inch I grow old, I see old music swaying on my freckled palms

Day by day, something occurs.

Numbness, lust, numbness. A prostitute cries and seduce.

I revolve around your milky lie, willing and wishing.

Thistles and apple grow across my ceilings, and the moment is a serenity.

I count my blood day and night, counting back and forth

to detect a sacrosanct lie, to detect a dead emotion

Illusions, Temple-bells, deaths, births, Bible verse,

I savour the ink and spray a molecule of each on my strawberry neck,

flavours and index of fortune float in the melancholic ebb.

The winter winds throw tantrums and my ex-lovers burn in disgust,

burning half lit cigarettes onto my fallen dying lips, making my body into ash.

Chopping and chopping the undone mistakes,

Probing into fathoms of undissolved wax of recurring spindle collision.

©My Valiant Soul