The incandescent.
The girl.
A million mottled molecules
hurtling round the sun, almost aflame.
Holding the world
in a teardrop.
With Pallid cheeks
She breathes..
in...
The illuminated.
Pour the storm oil into her eyes so that she may see
All the voids beneath.
Viridian. Obsidian. Vermilion.
Hearts of shellac,
whites of their eyes, filmy
craning their necks to see
This technicolor parchment.
Her Nails raking the air crimson.
Hands bleeding cobalt
Mouth a prism.
The infinitesimal.
This body, this void.
Formed of Ash.
Filaments of Thought.
Stolen Particles.
Hectic churl.
She stole from Iris too.
So that she might also unleash colour.
About the Creator
Jessica Rose
Finding the Art in the Everyday.
poetry, short stories, plays, novels.
insta: @missroseposts
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More stories from Jessica Rose and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Voice from the Void
The drop-off. The period of time that doesn't exist. Except for yours truly. My life exists in this emptiness, this void, the in-between, the "Ah, I was nowhere near there Officer, been fucking here all night ain't I?" and anonymous check-ins to hotel rooms.
By Jessica Rose5 years ago in Fiction
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith6 days ago in Humor
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