Author Information
Crimson White
Folder:
My Works blood vain lips against a bleached hand.
darkened light is the sky.
the trees are my dry and cracked hands..
a voice calls out to me,
sounding familiar,
yet I do not recognize it.
in my hand, a love letter,
a crumpled piece of paper.
it means nothing.
static on the television.
a fog in my mind.
I open the door,
it is cold, wet, dry.
I am hot.
breaking out in a cold sweat,
the fever of my panic taking over me,
I drown.
the embodiment of my soul,
is yesterday's news.
there is no more feeling left in me.
a bottle on the table,
empty with no liquor left inside.
but its smell still lingers on me.
its emptiness is my body freezing over.
to become nothing..
yelling to you,
calling out your name.
but I cannot hear my own screaming.
my voice is lost to me,
even though I couldn't hear it before.
you fade into the backgrounds,
of warm shadows.
running after you..
I fall into slumber.
my eyes close,
and then open.
hearing the sounds of water,
and ocean calling out to me.
so calm,
so clean,
so quiet.
a veil,
washing, covering, purifying, only slightly over everything.
and I feel alone again.
no one in the world to comfort the sorrows.
This was awesome! I loved the title and the poem. You painted a vivid picture here.
I like the image you evoke in the beggining lines
the whole thing is wonderful though
I love how you paint the scenes with your words. Laciate speranza voi ch'entrate! That's latin!! some things don't make much sence to me but I suppose if I saw it I would understand. Like how can it be cold outside when you are hot and how is it both wet and dry. Perhaps it's your eyes making the rain and your mind warming your body. I don't quite understand but I love it anyways, keep up the good work.