She awoke from thorns
to only gaze at a desert of ashes.
The morning was more difficult to look at
as the clouds were like rust that infected the sky.
She's breaking.
Her skin decided to cut itself apart-
from her blue eyes to her pale cheeks;
her already broken lips;
her neck that her hair, the wind, and his grip wanted to get a hold of.
To her arms that wanted to create
both chaos and tranquility,
both clarity and defeat.
Her shadows have left her as she had expected.
Her skin cracks as well as the sky-
the sky that he painted for her.
It was his.
And she can't forget that.
She stared at the sky that's collapsing right in front of her.
She trembled as she remembered who she was.
She was his.
A/N:
My Day 2 entry to our 100 Days of Poetry challenge.
July 24, 2016
YOU ARE READING
Pinwheels and Dead Leaves
PoetryThis is a compilation of my works in the year of 2016. I was pretty active that year, really inspired by love and friends, and started reading and discussing philosophical things. It was also the year that our group the Ice Cream Club did the 100 da...
