Blood Red Cotton Wool Sunset
Words not spoken
By Ian VincePublished 7 months ago • Updated 7 months ago • 1 min read
Photo by Christian Seeling on Unsplash
I don’t want to be here anymore.
That’s the simple, dangerous truth of it.
I seek an abnormal singularity of somewhere safe,
an empty silent place that equals the vacuum
of a soul without content.
I keep these things to myself so nobody has to hear.
Better left said, a valve will open wide, let the pressure leave
to find its symmetry and balance action against inertia.
I watch the billowing above as motivation melts away.
A dismal cloud dissipates as empty threat
Staining the already blood-red cotton wool sunset.
About the Creator
Ian Vince
Erstwhile non-fiction author, ghost & freelance writer for others, finally submitting work that floats my own boat, does my own thing. I'll deal with it if you can.
Top Writer in Humo(u)r.
Comments (4)
so good
Thank you for being so supportive, I should say that, yes, I'm OK! The challenge was to say something we think but we do not usually share with others. Thank you all for some very kind words.
It takes courage to put these feelings into words. I hope you're doing ok!
inertia, yeah...me too