river runs
from fork
to rapids
yet
the rain never stops
river runs
from fork
to rapids
yet
the rain never stops
This ink writes life, likes, and choices on my skin as if I was my own journal. Let’s fill up the pages with memories between poems of freckles and scars…
Do nothing
It’s not enough
Do one thing
It’s wrong
Do too much
It’s over looked
Nothing enough
Nothing is ever enough
I’ll go home
I try
Like a chore
Windup toy on eggshells
Constantly trying to be one step ahead
Wrong step
Wrong path
Wrong choice
It’s not enough
Like photography? Especially of animals and food (and in black and white and colour)?
Have a look and a follow…. ://www.instagram.com/ciararose_photography/
These hurdles
Are catapults
Sending me
Mountains behind
I struggle forward
Only to be blocked
Sent back
Hindered
Soar forward
Then
Crash-land
Head first
Into salty water
And Fire
Scream for help
Trapped
In a glass box
Left
Alone
Alone
Alone
Scream
For help
What help?
Alone
Hot veins
Acid
Running under tired skin
So tired
So quiet
So still
So
So what?
Can’t sleep
Can’t be
Cant’t answer
So numb
Electric veins
My lungs erupt into
A chaotic lava storm
Flowing like hot rivulets through
My skin
Crackling
This tempest
These ribs
Snap
Under pressure
Boiling over
Insects of fever crawl
All over me
Taking over
Boiling over
Flowing like hot rivulets
Through my skin -19/4/19
Sometimes I feel like a doll on a shelf and you only take me out when you want to play. The rest of the time I just have to watch. Trapped in my box. On a shelf. As you play with the other toys.