05 | souls
// i'm not what they see, maybe i'm not that you love to see, that's me leaving with the question— forever down in the loopholes of catastrophe. Leaving questions with certainty of range-handed, there's no living dead: only corpses. Nothing to console your teething eyes, only to close them in exhaustion. The cloudscape is gleaming, maybe in the sound of griming. Only the croaking wind is swinging; here & there. Flying birds, with the season of every fall, your fall is weathering off. I'm not what you see, you're not what I want to see: we're just the lost souls. Seeking chances of another entity search, but we're forgetting the teaser, the night has only begun. There's more to come. //
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Mystic notions | ✎
Poetry//clattering thoughts, jumbling ruth // forever lies, forever prejudiced // fumbling fingers, dipped in dangling // [ a prose poetry collection ] ━━━━━━━━ #16 on poetry ( 03.12.2022 )
