All these mirrors carnival distortions of selves we never were.
Those masks we wear not to shield others; but ourselves from who we are.
After a breath and before another, there's plenty of time to rest.
There is a light within our soul that burns brighter than the sun. And we ignore it.
LOOK AT MY BLOOD FLOWERS, BECAUSE I WRITE WITH A SERENE SHARP BLADE THAT SOOTHES. AS MUCH AS CUTS INTO THE DEEPEST PARTS OF MY SOUL.
poems open doors; that don't even exist.
Even dead fallen leaves go a long way with the wind before getting crushed.
Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Most of my beholders are blind.
I want to douse myself in silver words and whisper away all rue.
