If darker days were behind
our picture frame,
Then we find in its shadow
All our faults to blame.
Light bulbs flicker in the night
While the radio sings until it’s dead,
Counting our last moments
Falling within our ocean bed.
I held your hand as you
Reached for mine.
Solace in a tender grip aside,
A lost thing so divine.
Coarse, weary, bone-tired,
Still your fingers remain as talons.
Waiting, waiting while we lay awake,
Our fear drowning us by the gallons.
The sirens grow louder, the lights less scant.
Our pendulum struck its last click.
We’ll let go together if you want,
When the clock stops in one tick.
Another day passes without your calls,
my phone a false alarm
for eager minds.
Day and night blur through
the light dances in a frenzy as the months
Ten messages a week, just to see
if you’re okay
in the fields of sand
you need and hate.
Is it possible to melt into the flow
from flesh to be
Missing halves and pathetic coping
in the manner of
mannequin love and
Were my only way
A/N: this is just something I wrote while I was enduring hell week last year, to which
I am going through again this month. Then again, I might call it hell month, since I’m going to
Be swamped with papers and projects for the next three weeks. Ugh. Such is life, beautiful and awful at the same time.
Um… Some of you may have seen that Count of Monte Cristo post that was published today and I have to say, that I had to take it down since it wasn’t finished yet. I know it’s a bit rude and I apologize for that, but I don’t want to post something unfinished. It would be even more embarrasing than taking down a post and editing/finishing it. The post would probably come back p within next week. By then I hope I have already finished. Again, sorry about the inconvenience and thanks for understanding. 😅
– extraordinary snail
A pen in hand, bleeding through shivering fingers,
Races to the paper’s edge, false promises and empty strokes linger
Still, ghosting the decimated canvas.
People staring with awkward smiles and cautious glances,
Hoping they could escape the pathetic person they see, who dances
Eagerly with predictability and self-deprecation.
Pretend, pretend they have no power until the lie
Sets in, no longer alien, morphine for the corpse who refuses to die,
All pain and suffering the marks of one’s life.
With livid eyes and swirling black,
they danced in the ocean deep.
Yes. Very creative title. I know.
Anyway this is just a test of the tags and categories. Sad to say, I am very new to this thing. Hopefully, it’ll be easier in the future. Sorry, don’t got the stuff yet. I would probably post something soon. Yeah. That’s it for now.
Hi… I am an Extraordinary Snail,
who sleeps with a singing tale,
that is stuck behind the LED screen,
Where the heavy glass leans,
a very odd dream.