I close my eyes into it,
a hallway of mirrors that folds within itself.
I tumble, to teeter towards the spiral,
the winding sideways stairs
that vacuum me into the vortex:
the whirl the twirl the twist
the black the white the kiss
the blur the churn the mirage
above below throughout
within without surrounded
the mist the cloud the swarm
the swirl of the pastels,
the glitter the shimmer the shine
kaleidoscopic microscopic psychedelic,
soft like a cloud.
I rise and fall
into this oblivion.
Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts in the comments below. I wanted to add a photo with this but decided against it because I would like to hear what you visualise hen reading this.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”