Poetry Nightmares Books Face Replacements
(Source: bennyshap)
(Source: i-am-the-oracular-spectacular)
(Source: carringtonlynn)
She continues to play the game,
Tied down and bound to Earth.
Was coming to experience physicality all it was predicted to be worth?
Maybe it was to learn to love.
To turn her scales into feathers of a dove.
To a different universe is where she yearns to fly away.
In this human form she cannot last another day.
She just wants to remember,
She has not learned nearly enough since last December.
The memories are lost inside her soul.
That in which her mind cannot control.
Will she drink the blood, and lose her light?
Fall into darkness, and slave away to the night.
Or will she rise above, stand her ground, and fight?
Only time can tell what is wrong and what is right.
As blood struggles to surface, whispers willingly trace my collarbones.
Every pore seeps an eerie murmur, and once released, forcefully wraps around these limbs.
My cheeks have gone livid.
I offer you an image so painstakingly vivid.
A heart holds an obdurate fever in which no being wishes to abide.
For within was once a battle where impulse and adrenaline did collide.
I insist that I only bare a sagacious case of psychosis.
I swallow capsules filled with hysteria of generous doses.
What is this grasp that so desperately lingers?
And now it proliferates and tightens its fingers.
It’s quite miraculously, inexorable that I am forced to brood.
Of such hopeless craving, obsession, swarming, and blood.
A hollow eyed owl perched within my soul sings.
Here grows a mystery untold wrapped in her wings.
(Source: shelfassbrah)
(Source: t4ctical)
