sutures to stop a bleeding heart
the flow of a crimson creek
galaxy of shooting stars
beautiful calamity we perceive
medicine to heal the wounds
walls up in defence
lock the outside in a room
ozone to keep the pretence
heat rises, vapour condenses
a cacophony of catastrophes
dulcet din drips red kisses
dry heart stops and atrophes
neurones firing at sonic speed
fighting to keep the fate at bay
at last the corse is at ease
too dead to fight another day
YOU ARE READING
Trance Ends
PoetryLife in a bubble is beautiful. The inevitable pop is the only sure thing about a bubble though. Just like death is the only certainty of life. So when the trance ends, and we transcend, that is when it all truly begins.
