Looking at a face in the mirror, a face barely known. The blood
rushes to the surface, antagonising the skin; no reaction. Sallow and sunken. Dead
pupils, the moonlight doesn’t even venture that close now; there was a time
when it hit every depth. Once a narcissist, now a dead flower overwhelmed by
carbon dioxide.
This blog is basically what the title says! I am an avid reader, I adore books; their contents, their pages, their feel, their binding, their magic. I love books, i can read but can i write?
Saturday, 28 September 2013
Friday, 6 September 2013
frosted glass
The taste of your soul still alive in my mouth.
Strands of stray hairs on a dirty pillow case.
Open windows letting the cold air scorch cold stone colder. Stale memories lit
only by your half eaten love.
Winter has come early.
Labels:
alive,
cold,
dead,
hair,
icanreadbutcaniwrite,
love,
pillowcase,
prose,
soul,
winter
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