Sunday, 18 April 2010
Monday, 5 April 2010
Cradle your sentiment inside bleak purple forearms, because circulation flows like ice in a torrid landscape.
Roll up the finished, bloody, chromatic carpet and step softly on the exhausted severed floorboards. They yell as if infatuation would heal the tendency for them to creak when walked on. Depleted and scarred the wall paper hung heavy like my chest.
The painting which you gave me lived docile on the passive walls.
The dust made the grey painting greyer than death, chapters written without any desire.
Going through the jade pine door into the room of novelty, is such like going through a hormonal palisade where I find emotion naked and free.
Instantly I find a chill surrounding my bodily vicinity.
The aroma of the room squats vividly and plagues my lungs; the cardiac organ is the corner is one you said you sung. But all the signs and lies you love to give me, it has been too long too long since I wrote destiny.
The same is the same I need to break from this room, it’s never too late it’s never too soon. The synapse confused of what I should do, too many splinters stand from the wood. I step into the light and become a cliché; warmth from the air kills the dust from my lungs, trapped in a coma of time.
Perfect in motion.
Earlier poem which i blogged.....basics now is finished.