Posted in Poems, Uncategorized

Wisp.

The last wisp of smoke

curls into the air

like the cruel hunger pains

that drill into my bones.

 

Silver, in the exotic moonlight,

I bathe in the crystalized water.

The masquerade of my lies

retreats to reveal blackened skin.

 

I close my eyes into the past:

a lone hair brushing against my forehead,

his fingertips against my cheek,

a tiny bead of sweat   r  o l  l   i    n    g    off of my shoulder,

and a thin curl of poison

as he draws.

I press my back against the chill,

a polished river stone.

Goosebumps born upon my fading facade

the blinding light of mourning.

The silk of a bloodied dove

carries me into the next.

 

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts with me in the comments below.

 

 

 

 

 

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Author:

I am the author of 1withthepen.wordpress.com and am currently working on a book of poems. To find out more check out my about me page as well as my page about my blog and welcome to the ink angels community.

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