Dreary sunny dreams
Where are you? Will you ever return?
I hate the summer sun
It laughs at me for hiding
La Luna torments me by keeping me high up
With burning shadows
Morning Star Sun created a hope that pierced inside my heart like a gaping, deep, wormy hole,
Full of leaded guts that insects cannot prey on.
Summer mornings are worse,
No,
Summer afternoons, I mean
And I can’t breathe in the toxic heat
Yellow covering me with slashes along my arms,
And broken up pieces of hairbrush against my skull.
I dream of you in summer’s eve,
Lingering in my future hippocampus
A fatal crack in my mouth
That trickled to my arteries,
Draining me of burning shadows
Widening the hole inside,
But I am like the Supernova,
Dying instantaneously like a broken but overwhelming machine
Like a found Schrödinger's Star,
Stuck in warped, blacked out, loud
Fragmentations
Stuck on you,
Why won’t you leave my burning heart
The way you left me?
I was thinking of you before we met,
I was dreaming of you before we spoke,
I missed you before you left.
About the Creator
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The Quiet Influence
The Quiet Influence An oracle on steadiness, softness, and returning to oneself Author’s Note This piece was written from a place of quiet integration rather than urgency—a moment when nothing needed to be solved, proven, or pushed through. I wrote it for those who are discovering that healing doesn’t always arrive as a breakthrough, but sometimes as a gentle settling into presence. If this feels anticlimactic, tender, or unexpectedly emotional, you’re not doing it wrong. You’re likely learning how to rest without disappearing—and how to let yourself be held without effort.
By Flower InBloom3 days ago in Poets
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