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Literature Text
I don't sleep.
Not since I pulled back
the sky
and found not epiphany but
indifference
glancing past.
Like how she bleeds
nourishes
feeds the bare earth,
that wine ichor that spills
and overflows her heart's boundaries.
Through my eyes of cracked marble.
Amid the white,
little streams of red.
Not since I pulled back
the sky
and found not epiphany but
indifference
glancing past.
Like how she bleeds
nourishes
feeds the bare earth,
that wine ichor that spills
and overflows her heart's boundaries.
Through my eyes of cracked marble.
Amid the white,
little streams of red.
I haven't written much while my eyes are bloodshot and my head heavy from lack of sleep, until now.
© 2007 - 2024 kkog
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