My eyes anchor to you
Wind snatched from my lungs
You become my compass and sextant
As my heart jolts, floundering like flotsam
Shaking in my solar plexus
―
This is a visceral voyage that predates speech
Making thought a luxury
―
The love god's arrows have no mercy
Indiscriminate and painfully faithful
It took one bolt to take root
Now a fever garden blooms in my belly
Butterflies frolic there
Restless and desperate
―
Before this, I was an empty house
Harboring a wounded, scarred heart
My mortar sighed
My walls ached
My windows wept
And the floor of my soul was cold
―
Curl inside me like ivy
I’ll let you through the plaster
Creep in further
I don’t mind
If it brings you to me faster
About the Creator
Jessica N. W.
A slave to the humanities: art, music, literature, film, philosophy, psychology, etc. I make things. I have one child: a hedgehog named Zander. He likes to sleep. I don't blame him.
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The Strand
“They’ll likely unwind me next.” His voice carried no fear or resignation. He spoke as if he were ordering at a pub, and had nicknames like a frequent customer, too. Ol’ Corin and Deathless Corin were the most prominent. A slumbering baby lay in his arms. Not very old, judging from her rosy skin. Corin allowed himself to kiss her forehead. Pure, peaceful, and perfect. Things he wasn’t. Not anymore.
By Jessica N. W.5 years ago in Futurism
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