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I bleed Poetry
I bleed poetry to heal through
midnight confessions.
Mistress’s ink does not seek
your caramelized validation;
it has no desire to please
your feed of presumed perfection.
I’ve never tamed this
skill as an online profession;
this is just an unbreakable obsession~
I’m drowning in for a distraction.
Don’t question my
hazy metaphors,
veiled away from towering
thorns of introspection,
too vague and meaningless
for the skies adorned
with sleeping stars.
These scribbles of sentimental
symbolism may cause
digressing reactions,
for I’ve been sewing a
waltzing nightmare,
whilst counting syllables
within concocted connotations,
surfing through wicked
schemes of sunset-colored
sestinas to sunflower sonnets.
Now I knit hyacinth haikus
in honeysuckle hues,
woven from pristine petals
amidst wilting wilderness,
awaiting twilight that
would awaken words written
in repetitive refrains,
reigniting the flames
between spaces on fragrant pages,
so dreams will no longer
be more peaceful
than the air I breathe.
Although these lines
do not rhyme with teal-green
tides that sketch
turquoise beginnings,
I still hope time can maybe
guide this canvas home.
Copyright ©
Ink Empress
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