paper-mache worlds caged by lonesome bone.
lined with the smoke of your impermanence.
faded pink, breathe in the words of great minds
that taught your heart how to live.
This world can only hold so much pain,
That humanity cannot refrain
from billowing clouds of thought pollution
the allure of dancing on life’s deflated lungs.
Your lung’s edges
melanized like my contaminated heart.
like clay that has yet to be molded by the hands of time.
vast oceans of air
that are oceans from mine,
tiny capsules of loss.
It is said, “Death is the mirror in which the entire meaning of life is reflected.”
And when I look into it’s crystaline surface,
all I see is the vacancy of breath upon breath
and your lungs
writhing beneath a cloud of stubborness.
Your pretty lungs,
haunt me sometimes.
Note that the quote on death being a mirror is from, “The Tibetian book of living and dying “.
Thank you all for reading and sharing your feedback and thoughts with me.