living in a white-washed world that only knows to
breed mad men;
drinking witches’ blood to quench
the fires in the stomach-
-
i’ve never known the secrets of storytelling,
so how am i to communicate visions of enlightenment
to the moon-walkers, drunks, and lovers and brutes
if the words were not to come together beautifully
what happens when you discover others have worshipped your god
in your secret place of worship?
offering gifts in the same fashion,
pressing their forehead where you press yours;
kisses laid upon your god’s feet that overlap your own;
tear drops dried upon the same throne you have cried upon?
what rock has been left unturned in which is safe to worship your god
without others knowing?
the answer:
none
i have uncovered a small black bag along the railroad tracks
that seemed of the utmost importance to be discovered;
i laid my eyes upon the most beautiful sight ever seen-
an unknown animal with the most shiniest fur coat
coated in crimson;
it shone in the midday sun with the shine of
undiscovered rubies;
there has been a reoccuring dream
that has seeped into the creases of my mind as of late;
a dream so real i shake with anticipation
for it to one day come true;
my own body swimming in a sea of glass,
shining ever brighter as my crimson blood
engulfs my limbs and torso
giving my body it’s own shade of ruby red
for others to adore
if i were to say, “i love you”
those three words,
in that order-
would you believe me?
i have never heard
such a phrase
used as much as this one
with such little meaning
like a flower grown within the confines of darkness
i feel like my colors fading as i grow
high atop my tower of isolation;
my beauty is coming and going-
if flowers grown within closets could speak
they would scream for someone to have a glimpse
of their beauty because it fades;
the only problem being,
flowers cannot express their feelings
and neither can i
