splendor 》poetry

𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕜𝕖

Swollen eyelids but not from the pollen outside.
Holy cupid's birthday went and passed by.
I missed it—the party, the balloons, the cake.
My feet were walking yet somehow I wasn't awake.

Asleep, asleep, but I wasn't in my bed.
A graveyard of a brain, a coffin for a head.
Broken clock for a heart and a cloud for my lungs.
Crimson blood for eyes and a rattlesnake tongue.

Rusting and dusting, my bones creak and ache.
Flowers tickle my nose as I rise and I wake.
But where did winter go? Am I late, am I late?
Length of my comatose—one hundred and eight.