An image between two mirrors – bouncing soul left to right – right to left – vortex spinning
Vertigo and drowsy in words of make believe lovers
The doorway opens
And in walks the black and the white ready to pounce to rip or to rest
Can’t take a smoke outside – can’t take a smoke inside – can’t take a smoke
Though in a faint memory of coffee and notebooks a smoke is readily available
Always readily available – lips can suck and blow words
Long before the moon reaches beyond sight- long after the moon reaches beyond sight
Sleeping poet does not sleep
Does not feel poetry in her veins does not feel music in her soul does not feel touch on her skin
Trapped in the vortex of the spirit sucking images
Laughing and screaming from across walls.
This girl has gone mad.
She most certainly has.
But she will sleep on it – will eventually close her eyes
Only to wake to the Dead.
Relish in the language and words and words and more words
Building a path for her to escape this fucked up town.
And she will never look back.
This was merely a pause that shook and broke. An Earthquake of sorts that did not crack the
Mirrors smiling at endless hallways.