Tendrils of darkness curl around her throat.
Colour me black, black, black.
The voices, they whisper in her ear, forgotten mumbles and murmurs, nightmares buried in old fears, goodbye, goodbye, this was never meant to last. They're real but they do not exist, they drown in clouds of forgotten dreams.
She stumbles off the edge of cold, cold glass (the fragments cut her rosebud fingers), falling, the stark silence of nothings and nobodies strangling her, with only a sea of tears to catch her, to embrace her, to destroy her.
She wakes up gasping, drowning in white sheets.
4 comments:
HEY!
i realise that a bit of your poem from here is actually an entire poem on you PIF bloggy.
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this poem paints an image-d (unreal?) picture.
wow. "only a sea of tears" (her own, perhaps?) "to catch her".
"real but do not exist" hrms. that's food for thought. i suppose i'll have to chew on that for a while before understanding its hidden meaning...
and it's all a dream.
Pardon? Do pardon me, but what is 'PIF bloggy'. (I really should stop my curiosity from getting the better of me but this I just have to know. Hah!)
oh uh Perfection is Flawed.
"Tendrils of darkness curl around her throat.
Colour me black, black, black."
This felt so real that I could almost feel velvet shadows slip from my fingers.
"falling, the stark silence of nothings and nobodies strangling her, with only a sea of tears to catch her, to embrace her, to destroy her."
That was masterful. It reminded me of something I saw on deviantart once.
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