Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Known Too Little
It was a concoction of timid whispers
Sent rushing through my skull like a
Wicked wind.
The scent of magenta, a death I couldn't see,
But saw, sublime in read and pinks, darkening the
Hearth where warmth becomes my wings.
Upon the shore, I'd twist and turn slanted
Adoration into a cliff to leap form.
Enveloped in fear, my blood turns stagnant.
Breathing is a choice, so lime in existence
But pearl in feeling.
I beg the difference off the horizon.
Vanilla fills my nose, cuts my nerves like
Glass, so nonchalant.
Like a ghost, so ready to be appeased.
The memory of innards strewn about,
A cocktail of disaster leaking into the
Vestibule of thought that frames disaster.
My soul quivers, rips in two.
My lips make no sound, except to lace words
Around trellis of memories.
In the morn, I rose with a garden of pain
Growing in my arcane heart.
Though the sun shines, it is the moon I look to for answers.
1-19-11
Sent rushing through my skull like a
Wicked wind.
The scent of magenta, a death I couldn't see,
But saw, sublime in read and pinks, darkening the
Hearth where warmth becomes my wings.
Upon the shore, I'd twist and turn slanted
Adoration into a cliff to leap form.
Enveloped in fear, my blood turns stagnant.
Breathing is a choice, so lime in existence
But pearl in feeling.
I beg the difference off the horizon.
Vanilla fills my nose, cuts my nerves like
Glass, so nonchalant.
Like a ghost, so ready to be appeased.
The memory of innards strewn about,
A cocktail of disaster leaking into the
Vestibule of thought that frames disaster.
My soul quivers, rips in two.
My lips make no sound, except to lace words
Around trellis of memories.
In the morn, I rose with a garden of pain
Growing in my arcane heart.
Though the sun shines, it is the moon I look to for answers.
1-19-11
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Known Too Little
Known Too Little